


Embracing the Beast

by llenorion



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Kissing, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Nightmares, Pianist!Bucky, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, but without the magic, journalist!Steve, mild reference to torture, minor fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llenorion/pseuds/llenorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago the heir to Barnes Genetics returned home from war after being tortured for several months.  Among the citizens he was considered the ‘Prince of New York’ due to his wealth, charm, and adoration of the upper and lower class who lived there. Once a charming, reckless, musically gifted young man, the Prince had become a recluse at his large home in the Hamptons. Rumors spread that he had been disfigured and lost his mind. For five years the Prince had refused to speak to anyone other than his close staff. Until last week when freelancing journalist Steve was presented the opportunity by a cryptic guy with an eye patch write the Prince’s story. What Steve initially saw as a chance to launch his career would become a search for redemption, love and hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Job Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just created a new blog for my AO3 fic on tumblr!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/llenorion

_Rap. Rap._ Steve knocked lightly on the glass door with the glossy writing that said _Editor_. Steve couldn’t help the twitch in his hands as the adrenaline surged through him. Getting summoned like this was always nerve racking.

 

“Come in.”

 

Steve walked in and hastily took a seat in one of the leather sling back chairs in front of the desk piled with various articles.  There was a tall dark skinned man in the corner in a crisp black suit, black shirt and shiny black shoes. Even the eye-patch covering one eye was black.

 

“Ah Rogers! So good to see you.” Steve highly doubted that. Richard Brooke was an imposing, balding man in his mid-fifties who had never been very happy to see anyone and whom no one was every very happy to see if Brooke’s three divorces and lack of children were anything to go by. He looked less pleased to have the stranger hanging around his office.

 

“I have a very lucrative job offer for you. Or I should say this gentlemen here has a job offer for you.” The man barely looked up at Steve, continuing to shuffle some papers around on his desk.

 

The man in the corner took his cue, walking over to Steve and giving him a firm handshake.

 

“It’s a pleasure Mr. Rogers. My name is Nick Fury. Now, it’s been a few years but I’m sure you remember hearing about all the commotion surrounding the return of James Barnes?”

 

“Of course, Sir.” Who couldn’t remember that? The return of the ‘Prince of New York’ from months of torture had been a major story for months after his return. Even five years later periodic stories were released speculating on what the reclusive heir to Barnes Genetics had been up too. Rumors had spread that he had lost his mind or was disfigured and couldn’t be allowed into socialized public anymore. Nobody had gotten so much as a press release out of his estate only adding to the mystery and drama.

 

“Good. Now. I wish to extend the opportunity of employment to write a book about his time in Iraq. We are quite keen on providing you alone with this opportunity.” Brooke shot him a glower, no doubt irritated that such an exclusive was being handed off to some freelance journalist with practically no experience.

 

“Sir?” Steve hazarded the question, “Why me specifically? The last article I wrote was about cop corruption in Odessa. It was hardly the big times. Wouldn’t Rumlow be better suited for something like this?” As much as he hated to admit it, Brock Rumlow was a popular journalist who focused on high profile political and military issues. He had taken down senators with his work. 

 

“Don’t bother Rogers.” Brooke interjected before Fury could respond. “Rumlow would’ve been the obvious candidate. He was here just a few minutes ago asking me to try to change Mr. Barnes’ mind. Yet even my influence didn’t seem to sway the vote.” Brooke shot Fury a dark look expressing just how put out by that he was. His influence and connection had probably always gotten him exactly what he wanted.

 

Fury shot an annoyed look at Brooke over the interruption. Looking back at Steve he was all professionalism again. “So, are you in or out?”

 

Brooke probably hoped he would say ‘out’ but if Steve was honest this was just the sort of break he needed for his career. Such a high profile book would allow him the opportunity to work on whatever stories he wanted. He hardly hesitated when he gave his answer.

 

“I’m in.”

 

Sure enough, Brooke’s mouth tightened in displeasure.

 

“Wonderful.” Fury handed Steve a sealed manila envelope stamped with an unfamiliar seal. “Everything you need to know about the job should be in that envelope. I should make you aware that this assignment starts a week from tomorrow, could last several months and that for the duration of the assignment you will be living on the premises of Barnes’ estate in the Hamptons. Any questions?”

 

“No sir.”

 

Fury nodded, pleased. “Good. I’ll see myself out. We are huge fans of your work.” He stalked out of the room, not sparing Brooke another look. Steve was a bit thrown by the abrupt exit, staring after the man. His work? Steve was proud of his work but it had hardly made large headlines.

 

“Rogers.” Steve jumped at the noise and turned back to look at Brooke, who looked as though he had just swallowed a lemon. “I suppose congratulations are in order. Enjoy the vacation and don’t fuck this up. Now get out, and shut the door behind you on the way out.” Brooke waved him off with a hand, returning to the towering pile of work in front of him.

 

Steve nodded jerkily and made a quick exit, shutting the door behind him. Steve had almost made it to the elevator without incident when he spotted Rumlow in his crisp navy suit leaning against the hall, a slight furrow in his brow the only sign he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to come off.

 

“Rogers. How goes it?”

 

“Rumlow.” Steve stalked past the man, trying to avoid a confrontation with the pompous man.

 

“Oh don’t be like that Rogers! You’re not still bitter over that article nonsense are you princess?” Steve froze, teeth clenching at the comment. He hadn’t even had ten seconds to really process his new assignment and he had old sores thrown in his face.

 

Steve glared sharply over his shoulder at the smirking, dark-haired man.

 

“It’s a bit hard to get over someone who was supposed to be a friend completely stabbing you in the back.” It had been two years and Steve wasn’t proud of how the memory still stung and incited him to want to commit violence. He pushed at the buttons on the elevator willing it to open.

 

“Come now Stevie. It was my chance for a big break. You can’t fault me for that. Besides. Now, you’ve got the keys to the biggest story of the decade in that little envelope.” Rumlow was definitely bitter about being passed up for Steve. Steve couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction at the thought. He couldn’t believe he had ever considered this sociopath of a man a close friend. Ding. Finally. Steve stepped into the crowded elevator but couldn’t help shooting a last minute jibe at Rumlow.

 

“I do, don’t I. This could be my big break. But unlike you, I won’t destroy people to get it. See you around Rumlow.” The door closed on an agitated Rumlow just before he could make a retort.

 

He tried to catch his breath and control the bubbling anger the whole way down, ignoring the glances of the others in the elevator. He had more important things to worry about. Like what the hell he was supposed to do about his apartment for the next several weeks?

* * *

 “Honey! I’m home.” It was an old joke between Steve and his roommate Sam Wilson who had initially bonded over I Love Lucy of all things. It was something they each hid adamantly from their other friends, not needing the onslaught of jokes he was sure they would be due for.

 

“In the living room!” Came the reply. Steve dropped his keys into the bowl on the table by the entryway of his tiny apartment and shed his jacket on a coat hook as he made his way to the cramp living area where Sam was having a Call of Duty marathon, chip bags strewn everywhere.

 

“Rough day?” Steve queried softly. Sam tended to only play war games when his group had a particularly bad session at the VA hospital where he worked. Steve had always thought it seemed counter productive for Sam to engulf himself in war games when he’d been reminded of something particularly awful but Sam had claimed that it helped him gain some control over the memories. Steve still wasn’t sure how but Sam had always been calmer after several hours of hardcore playing. Steve couldn’t begrudge him his methods of coping. Goodness knows his own probably weren’t that healthy.

 

Sam paused the game, eyes unfocused. “Someone brought up the day they lost one of their friends and it just…”

 

“Riley.” Steve surmised.

 

Sam nodded stiffly, “Yea. Riley.” Sam had been back from the war for three years but still got choked up every time Riley was mentioned.

 

There was silence for a moment before Sam shut off the T.V. and cleaned up a space on the couch next to him. “If you keep standing like that Steve I’m gonna loose it. I’m fine. Really, pal. Now, how’d that interview go?” Sam was itching for a diversion and Steve was happy to give it to him.

 

“I saw Rumlow.”

 

“Oh. Damn. Sorry, man. How’d that go?” Sam was only of the only people who knew the extent of the drama surrounding him and Rumlow.

 

“Alright, I guess? I got offered a job he really wanted so I can’t help feeling a bit vindicated, even if I did almost sock him in the middle of a hallway outside the editor of the _New York Times’_ office.”

 

“He’d have deserved it.” Sam’s expression was dark. If they ran into Rumlow in a back alley Steve wasn’t sure which of them would start swinging at him first.  

 

“Whats this about a job though? Finally gonna have some extra cash to do that boy’s weekend in Vegas?” Sam perked up at the prospect, eyebrows waggling. He had been bugging Steve to let loose and let Sam take him to Vegas for a weekend of debauchery. Apparently, Steve was too tightly wound to know what fun was if it bit him on the nose.

 

“Sorry pal. According to the information they gave me,” Steve gestured to the open envelope he’d finally had a chance to look through, “A week from tomorrow, I’m going to be staying on location at the Hamptons for the foreseeable future to write a tell all about a high profile client. Not sure ill be able to help out much with rent in the meantime.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got enough rent savings to hold us afloat for a bit. Hamptons huh? Swanky. This sounds like a breaking story. Who is the client?”

 

“James Barnes.” Steve was a bit sheepish. It was still surreal that _he_ of all people was getting the chance to enter an estate no outsider had been allowed into for five years for a career-making interview.

 

Sam let out a low whistle. “The Prince of New York?  Way to bury the lead man!! This deserves a drink.” He jumped over the back of the couch to grab a couple of beers from the fridge. Steve shook his head, laughing slightly at the exuberant display. He pulled the documents and a small plastic case out of the envelope to look over while he waited for Sam to wander back in with a six-pack and, was that… yep. A large bottle of vodka Steve had thought he’d hidden away was dangling loosely in Sam’s grip.

 

“Oh come on Sam!”

 

“I don’t want to hear it Stevie. This is one of those times you’re supposed to get stupidly drunk and wake up with strange boys or girls in your bed. If I didn’t know you better I’d already be dragging your ass to a club, but I know I need to get you a bit drunker before I can swing that. It’s called _celebrating_ an insane job opportunity.” Sam stressed the word celebrating like it was a term Steve had never heard before as he held out the vodka.

 

Steve considered refusing but eventually accepted the open bottle of vodka and took a swig. Sam had a point. This was a moment to celebrate. He’d go, write the article, come back, and finally have the job of his dreams. It didn’t hurt that he’d also have one over on Rumlow.

 

Over several drinks, Steve filled Sam in on what little he had been able to glean about the job from the folder. A car would be arriving a week from tomorrow to take him to the estate, leaving him little time to pack and get his things in order. He also wouldn’t be allowed to bring in any of his own devices and would be provided with encrypted devices when he arrived with which to do his job. The estate, which was right on the waterfront, was surrounded by a surprising amount of land and he wouldn’t be able to leave the premises until the job was done. “Paranoid bastard ain’t he?” Sam had commented. Steve couldn’t help but agree. It was a bit much for a recluse war veteran even one was wealthy as James Barnes. The plastic black box had contained a pass that would let him onto the grounds and access certain rooms.

 

“Dude. What kind of gig IS this? Sure it’s safe? I mean I’ve heard rumors about the guy Stevie. Things that make lesser men cry. I thought it was all crap but now I’m starting to reconsider my earlier assessment. You sure you want to do this?” Sam was starting to look concerned.

Steve was starting to share similar reservations, glancing over all the disclaimer forms he would need to sign and the tech. This was the chance of a lifetime though. Crazy or not, getting a headline article about the recluse ‘Prince’ was a major story. Probably even more so if the guy really was crazy.

 

“Yea… Yes. I’m sure. I can take care of my self Sam.” Sam still didn’t look sure and just took another swig of beer.

 

A few hours of drinking later, Sam managed to drag Steve out to a club arguing that it was his last chance to let loose and get laid before months of isolation. Sam had always said it was entirely unfair that Steve was attracted to both sexes and as such drew in so many people when they went out because of his strong, broad shoulders and innocent face leaving Sam the unpleasant ordeal of trying to get a girl to dance with him when Mr. Tall, Hot, and Sweet was standing next to him. Tonight though, Sam was going to get Steve to take advantage of it. 

* * *

 

A week later, Steve found himself standing on the curb with his bags waiting for the town car that was being sent to pick him up and nursing a truly spectacular hangover. On the way out the door this morning, Sam made sure to remind Steve not to be a ‘snippy bitch’ if the guy was confrontational cause he really wasn’t interested in attending his funeral. As if Steve was the kind of person to tell off a POW for being a little moody. Steve had just flipped him off in response with the hand that wasn’t clutching a hot cup of coffee like a lifeline. He couldn’t believe he’d let Sam talk him into going out last night. Ever since he’d gotten the job Sam had felt it was best to celebrate with going out and drinking. Part of Steve thought it had something to do with Sam trying to get in as much time going out with Steve as he possibly could before he went away for an unknown amount of time.

 

Regardless, this was so not the first impression he wanted to make with his new employer. He couldn’t even remember much about the night before but Sam had told him he’d gotten _very_ lucky with twins from Eastern Europe. Judging by how uncomfortable it was to sit at the moment – this car drive was going to suck – and how he could vaguely remember a dark hallway, feminine curves, a strong chest pressed against his back and sense memories that made his toes curl, Sam wasn’t exaggerating. Steve wanted to curl in on himself in embarrassment. It was so unlike him. He really wasn’t fond of one-night stands or hook ups and believed in going out a few times before ‘sliding into home’ so to speak. Sam was thrilled that he finally managed to get Steve to loosen up a bit and had mentioned they’d be having that boy’s weekend the second Steve got home.

 

The approach of a sleek black car broke into his reverie. It looked as though it cost more than three years worth of paychecks. The car stopped in front of him and a man emerged from the driver’s side. Everything about him screamed average, even down to the off the rack suit. He was of average height with a receding dark brown hairline and a kind face. Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting from someone who worked for the Barnes estate but it wasn’t this.

 

“Hello Mr. Rogers. My name is Phillip Coulson. I’m a fan of your work.”

 

It was the same thing that Mr. Fury had said to him. The odd thing was they had both seemed so sincere when they said it but it completely threw Steve who had only had a handful of articles published in mostly obscure newspapers.

 

“Um. Thank you, Mr. Coulson.” Steve wasn’t sure what else to say.

 

“Please. Call me Phil. May I grab your bags?” The man was already moving before Steve could answer. The man was stronger than he looked, tossing Steve’s heavy bags in the trunk with barely any effort.

 

Refusing to let Phil open the back door for him, that would be too surreal, Steve opened the passenger door and slid in to the cool leather seat before Phil could voice any complaint.

 

“Mr. Rogers, it is custom for our guests to ride in the backseat.” Phil shot him an amused look as he slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. Soft piano music came through the speakers. Steve couldn’t place it, but it was beautiful.

 

“Please Phil, call me Steve. I’m not used to all this fancy stuff. Sitting in the front is fine.”

 

“As long as your comfortable, sir.” Steve doubted he was ever going to get the other man to call him by his first name anytime soon.

 

Comfortable. Not likely.

 

The drive was two and half hours total under normal circumstances, but the way Coulson was driving Steve hazarded a guess that they would be there in just under two. Steve tried not to squirm too much at the pressure on his backside that was being exacerbated by the quick turns. A half an hour into the drive though, Coulson was obviously aware of the discomfort and seemed to have a fair guess as to what caused it.

“Having trouble sitting, sir? Should I slow down or would you prefer it if we went faster?” Coulson said it with such a straight face that Steve wasn’t sure if he was just imagining the double entendre.

 

“Um..” Steve’s face flushed red and he wasn’t sure how to reply. There didn’t seem to be a right answer to that question. Coulson let out a low chuckle, sparing him from having to respond.

 

“Don’t worry about it, sir. We’re all entitled to our private lives. It seemed like you made the most of your last few days of freedom at least.”

 

Steve wanted to crawl under a rock he was so embarrassed. Coulson just kept smirking at him like he could see into the past and knew every detail about what had transpired.

 

Steve sunk in his seat and threw a hand over face.

 

This was _definitely_ going to be a long car ride.

 


	2. James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a tour and learns a bit more about his new employer.

“We’re here sir.”

 

Steve could hardly believe what was seeing. He’d never had much growing up. The apartment he shared with Sam was the most expensive thing he’d ever been able to afford and they lived in a terrible part of New York.

 

Steve had had to use his pass at a tall gate at the edge of the grounds before they could even pass through onto the property. After driving through several acres of dense trees, they had finally pulled into the secluded drive of a vast, two-story, light blue painted brick estate. The roof was a pale grey. Steve could spot a slightly smaller, but still two-story, guesthouse behind and perpendicular of the main house. Like the main building, it had an outdoor terrace on the second floor. Amongst the hedges circling the homes were several different types of roses.

 

Steve stepped out of the car on to the smooth pavement, grateful not to be sitting down any longer. He took a long look at the house. Judging by the number of windows he could see there had to be at least a couple dozen rooms.

 

Fury was waiting for them on the steps just outside the front door with a man he didn’t recognize close behind him. The man was a tall, well-muscled, blonde dressed in a crisp white button up and black jeans. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscle in his lower arms. He seemed relaxed and was shooting them a wide, friendly grin.

 

“Nice to see you again Mr. Rogers.” Fury greeted him, giving him a short nod. “I’m so glad you were willing to accept the job. Were you able to go through all the documents.”

 

“Oh! Yea, just one sec….” He reached back into the passenger side door to grab the folder he’d dropped on the ground. He ran up and handed it to Fury who pulled out the documents and nodded occasionally as he looked over them.

 

Steve rubbed his hands on his jeans nervously. He hoped he didn’t look too much like he’d spent the night in a club. The blonde haired man just behind Fury was looking at something behind Steve. Before Steve could figure out what it was Fury gave a final nod and put everything back into the envelope.

 

“Everything here seems to be in order. This man behind me is Clint Barton. He doesn’t act like it but he’s head of Mr. Barnes’ security. As you’ve probably figured out, I’m his head of staff and Coulson over there is my assistant head of staff and in charge of maintaining the grounds. Anything you need you can come to any one of us.”

 

Steve shot a glance at Coulson who was already pulling his bags out of the trunk. He’d pegged him as just being a driver, nothing as official as second in charge of the estate staff.

 

“Come on in and we’ll give you the tour.”

 

“Sir?” Clint’s voice was rough. Fury paused in his step to shoot him a questioning look. “I was thinking I might stay out here and help Phil with those bags. They look awfully heavy.”

 

Fury snorted, shooting Clint an amused glance. “Do whatever you want Barton. I just expect you in my office in,” Fury glanced down at his watch, “an hour and a half to go over some of your new assignments.”

 

Clint distractedly nodded his acquiescence, already heading over to the car. Phil paused in his work at his approach, giving him a cheery hello and laughing at some remark Clint made. Steve surmised the two must be good friends.

 

Fury shook his head, muttering to himself.

 

Steve followed him into a large white – tiled foyer with a curved staircase off to the left heading to the second floor. He was quiet as Fury showed him around the richly decorated, open floor plan home. Fury pointed out various doors that led to his office, the dining area, and an honest to goodness ballroom - though it looked as if it hadn’t had much use lately. He was still processing that one when they wandered into the large kitchen where a small, curvy red haired woman was doing… something… with a bird Steve didn’t recognize. She barely looked up at their entrance.

 

“Rogers, this is Natasha Romanoff. She’s the lovely woman who keeps us all fed. I hope you don’t have any allergies or aversions to certain animal parts cause she likes to be creative sometimes.” Natasha flipped Fury off, telling him something in Russian that just made Fury chuckle.

 

“It’s nice to meet you ma’am.” Steve stuck his hand out instinctively to shake. Natasha just stared at him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, and held up her hands so Steve could see the juices and herbs covering her hands.

 

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Steve flushed.

 

“Don’t worry about it. First impressions are always a tad…  drop em Fury.” She redirected her gaze to Fury, who was trying to sneak some food. “Lunch should be ready in a couple of hours. You can wait till after your meeting with Clint.” She started shooing them out of the kitchen.

 

“How do you already know about that?” Fury sounded exasperated.

 

Natasha just shrugged. “I have my ways. Now get out. I need to focus on this new recipe I’m trying.”

 

“Just try not to kill us.”

 

Fury grabbed Steve’s shoulders and directed him back out into the hallway towards the living room.

 

“Lets go Rogers. Plenty more to see.”

 

“Sir? In the packet it said I would need to use my card to get into certain rooms? Also, where will I be sleeping? Upstairs?”

 

Fury paused, staring Steve down with his one good eye. “You are not to go upstairs unless Mr. Barnes gives you express permission. Is that clear?” Steve nodded quickly. That stare was intimidating.

 

“Good. Now, you’ll notice certain doors on this floor that require key card access. Your card will let you in to the locked doors on the west wing but you are not allowed near the east wing doors. Is that clear?”

 

“Why, what’s there?”

 

“Look Rodgers, it’s forbidden. If you feel like pissing off Mr. Barnes by trying to get in be my guest.” That was the last thing Steve was interested in doing at the moment. “Look, that’s all you need to know. As for where you’re sleeping, you’ll be in the guesthouse just behind the main house. I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking.”

 

They passed through the large glass doors in the living room that led onto a wrap around porch with white pillars acting as posts. The view from the back porch was stunning. There was a rose garden and large pool in the… Steve wasn’t sure what to call it, backyard felt too simple. Steve thought the pool was a touch unnecessary as he could see the waterfront just a half-mile away.

 

Just as they made it to the guesthouse Fury’s phone started going off. He flipped it open and answered with a curt. “Fury.” He didn’t say anything as he listened to whoever was on the other line but his expression grew irritated. Steve wandered over to the poolside, trying to avoid accidentally eavesdropping. 

 

So far he had only seen four people in the home. The rumors that the ‘Prince’ kept a short staff seemed overly accurate. It was a bit baffling that they were able to manage such a large estate on their own and keep it so well kept. 

 

“Understood.” Fury hung up.

 

“Shit. I need to handle this. Rogers.” Steve twisted around to look at Fury who was already heading back inside. “I trust you can figure yourself out from here. We’ll have lunch in a couple of hours in the dining room. Mr. Barnes should be present so try and clean yourself up a bit. Hangover is really not a good look.”

 

Steve flushed. He’d been trying so hard not to let it show how hung over he was. He should probably take a shower.

 

Swiping his key card at the front door, Steve wandered into the slightly cozier but still expansive guest home. Wandering room to room to get himself acquainted he noted a soft leather couch and flat screen in the living area, his own kitchen with a gas stove and modern appliances, and a laundry room. He had everything he needed, apart from groceries. His favorite find was the study on the second floor next to the bedroom. It was full of books and a daybed was set up in the windowsill for reading. He ran his fingers along the spines of the well-worn books. Before Steve became a journalist he had wanted to write novels. As a kid, when things were rough, he used to imagine far off lands where magical things happened and everyone got their happy ending. He even made up his own short stories, drawing the pictures himself. His mother had loved them. During the chaos surrounding her death they’d been lost. Since then he lost the urge to write another novel, bitterly reminded of his mother every time he tried.

 

Steve shook off the melancholy. He needed a shower. In the bedroom next door, there was a tablet and recorder on the dresser and his bags were placed on slick hardwood floors at the foot of the wardrobe across the room.  A set of dark grey low chairs and a glass coffee table were placed in front of a gas fireplace. The bed was a four-poster with deep blue bedding that was silky to the touch and more pillows than any self-respecting man had need for. Steve quickly shed his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water pressure was fantastic. His and Sam’s shower back at their New York apartment was leaky with poor pressure and only managed two settings: boiling and freezing. He’d become accustomed to short showers but with the warm pressure on his back he thought he could afford to indulge himself a bit for once.

 

He lost track of the time he spent under the spray and forced himself to get out when his hands started pruning. Wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist and using another to dry his hair, Steve wandered back into the room to search through his bags for something presentable. Having utterly failed at all his other first impressions he could at least try and get this one right. He pulled on fitted khakis, a brown belt, and a white v neck t-shirt. After searching through his bags for several moments he finally found a pair of shoes that weren’t scuffed.

 

Fixing his hair in the mirror he could see the red ring around his eyes. The shower had helped; it was less obvious than he was still slightly hung over. Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror, fussing with his hair. He usually didn’t care much about his appearance but he felt intimidated by the wealth surrounding him. Apart from Coulson’s off the rack suit, the other members of the staff had been dressed in fashionable business casual attire. Even Clint’s jeans looked nicer than Steve’s best suit. Looking back through his bags he pulled out a blue blazer. It was probably overkill but better safe than sorry.

 

A glance at the digital clock on the cherry oak bedside table told him he still had about forty-five minutes before lunch. Well... there was time to kill. He might as well look around the main house again.

 

Retracing his steps in the main house, Steve explored various rooms he’d passed during the tour and tried to make a mental map of them in relation to the ones Fury had shown him. At some point Steve was sure he’d made a wrong turn because he didn’t recognize the area of he house he was in. Steve grumbled to himself. This is why nobody needs fifty rooms in one house.

 

He wandered until he found himself in front of a door with a pad for a key card. Steve pulled his out and swiped it but the blinking light stayed red. He must have somehow wandered over to the east wing. The place Fury had _just_ told him to stay away from. He glanced down at his watch. He had five minutes before he was supposed to meet the others for lunch. If he just walked back the way he came and took the left instead of the right when he got to that one painting…

 

A sudden grip on his shoulder caught Steve off guard; spinning him around pushing him up against the door he had just tried to get into. Before he could react he had an arm at his throat, pinning him against the door and crushing his larynx.

 

“What the hell are doing here?” The voice was low and dangerous.

 

Crap. He was about to get fired on his first day, if whoever this was didn’t kill him first. He stared into cold, flint blue eyes that were glaring murderously up at him from under dark furrowed eyes. He tried to respond but the pressure on his throat wouldn’t let him form coherent words.

 

The man snarled at him, releasing just enough pressure to let Steve answer.

 

“This area of the house is off limits. Now who the _fuck_ are you and why should I let you walk away?”

 

“Steve.” He choked out. “My name is Steve Rogers. I got lost. Could you please let me go? We can go find Fury, he’ll clean this whole mess up.” Steve wasn’t weak by any means, but he would prefer to avoid a fight if he could help it. The man considered him for a moment before stepping back and letting him go. Steve barely had a moment to catch his breath before the man was shoving Steve in front him.

 

“Walk. Fury better have a damn good reason for an outside agent to be wandering around.”

 

Agent? The hell. Steve tried to look over his shoulder but the man just pushed him forward again yelling at him to ‘look front’. It was a tense few minutes as Steve was directed with rough shoves back towards the dining area where Fury, Clint and Coulson were already sitting and Natasha was carrying in several plates from the kitchen.

 

Natasha was the first to notice, cursing as she dropped the plates on the table and walked slowly towards them with her hands up as if she was calming a spooked animal.

 

“Easy James. Let him go. He’s not here to hurt anyone.” Her voice was quiet, soothing.

 

The man behind him, James, gripped the back of his jacket, shaking him roughly.

 

“Who is he?”

 

“He’s new. Fury hired him to help you and Bucky. Remember?”

 

Steve was officially confused. Who was Bucky? James… James Barnes. Was she trying to say that they guy going all commando on him was the man he’d been hired to interview?

 

“Bucky needs to be protected. You should have cleared him with me before you let him wander around, especially in the east wing. How can I be sure that he isn’t a threat?”

 

“Shit Rogers. I thought I told you to stay out of there.” That was Fury, glaring darkly at him. Was now really the time to be giving him hell? Shouldn’t they be focusing on handling the guy who had just tried to choke him out?

 

“Can it Fury.” Natasha shot him a look.

 

“Look.” Steve piped up. “I’m just here to do a job. I don’t want any trouble.” He buckled to his knees at the sharp elbow to his back. This guy was out of control!

 

He felt warm breath at his ear as James spoke. “You need to shut up. As far as I’m concerned you’re trespassing and a threat.”

 

“James. You need to calm down.” Natasha was closer now, hands reaching out to grab James at the first chance she got. “Do you remember that conversation we had last week? That someone would be coming to live with us for awhile who was going to help Bucky get strong again so you didn’t have to protect him so much.”

 

“I remember…”

 

Natasha nodded quickly. “Good. That’s good. How about you let him go and you and I can go talk this over.”

 

“Fine.” Steve felt the man step back and took the chance to back away to the corner of the room. Getting his first good look at the man, he screamed dangerous. Under normal circumstances Steve would have found the short dark hair, high cheekbones and compact form attractive, even with the now obviously missing arm. Instead he couldn’t help feeling terrified. He was slighter than Steve but held himself in a way that even with one arm promised he could kill you more ways than you could imagine with barely a thought.

 

Natasha took him aside, muttering to him in Russian. The whole room was still for several moments. Clint and Phil were still sitting at the table but they were tense, ready to move at the slightest provocation. From this angle Steve could see the kitchen knife Clint was palming.

 

There was a nearly visible shift in the room when James relaxed, all trace of danger diminished. Steve started to relax but clenched up again as the man headed towards him. He seemed like a totally different person; less angry and more open, with a bashful grin on his face.

 

“Sorry about that man. James is like that with new people. Don’t take it personally. He’s just protective. My name is Bucky Barnes. I understand you’ll be staying with us awhile to try out this crockpot therapy my friends came up with.” He shot a wry grin at the others in the room. Steve was getting whiplash. The _hell_ is going on.

 

“It’s nice to meet you.”

 

He stuck his hand out to Steve who just stared in disbelief and started calculating the fastest way back to his little New York apartment.  

 

“Fury. We need to talk.”

 

Steve ignored the outstretched hand and practically ran from the room not bothering to check if Fury was behind him. This was so above his pay-grade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've adapted some of the characters from Beauty and the Beast to fit the characters in the fic including the enchantress. It will become obvious who the enchantress in this version is soon, if you can't already guess.


	3. Subsection C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve should learn to read the fine print and Fury needs new roommates. Or less. He'd prefer less.

“I’m sensing there’s something you left out of the briefing packet.” Steve wasn’t even trying to hide the sarcasm as he slammed the door to Fury’s office behind him. He thought back to the week before when he’d been so confident he could handle whatever eccentrics Barnes might have but he was so, so wrong. Crazy might make for an interesting story, but Steve was starting to realize it didn’t do much for his safety. He was suddenly very aware that he had miles of woods between him and the main road and no car to get him there. He could try to make it to one of the neighbors’ estates…

 

Fury didn’t even look chastised at the remark, simply leaned casually against his desk. If anything, the look he was shooting Steve indicated that he thought Steve was the stupid one. “Look. I apologize for the rough treatment you suffered from Mr. Barnes.”

 

You bet your ass you're sorry. Steve’s hands clenched at his side, shaking from adrenaline.

 

“But it wouldn’t have been a concern if you hadn’t been wandering the east wing after I expressly told you _not_ too.” Fury shot him a dark glare

 

“As for the matter of not filling you in on our first meeting. Which was in the editor of the _New York Times_ office by the way. We can’t let it become public record the depths of Mr. Barnes’ instability. It attracts certain attention we’ve been trying to avoid. Having now met him, I would have thought even you could grasp that concept.” The funny thing was Steve did get it. Rumors were one thing but actual public knowledge of his instability could damage Barnes Genetics and James’/Bucky’s - Steve didn’t know what to call him – livelihood and reputation. It didn’t change the fact that a former soldier had just mauled him.

 

“Besides,” Fury continued ignoring Steve’s glares, “would you have honestly accepted the position if I’d opened with “by the way my employer has DID and can get violent around newcomers who trespass” at our first meeting?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. No. Steve probably wouldn’t have. Knowing now he could honestly say this wasn’t worth the story. He’d get his break some other way. Right now Steve needed to focus on getting out of there. The man was calm the last time he saw him, but whose to say he would stay that way.

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. Find someone else.” Steve made for the door to the office.

 

“You can’t.” Steve froze.

 

“Excuse me? I’m not a prisoner. My safety is in question and as such I’m officially resigning the job meaning I no longer have to stay on the premises.” Steve was trying to fight back the nagging fear in the back of his head that maybe he was a prisoner. How, in the span of ten minutes, had this gone from a great opportunity to the dumbest idea of his life in which he had no way of contacting _anyone_ for help.

 

“You should read the fine print a bit better Mr. Rogers. From the moment you signed those disclosures and work forms you agreed unquestionably to the job and its parameters. You also agreed that you would be unable to leave this job unless we let you go without raining a whole pile of legal hell on your ass.” 

 

Steve was really getting the urge to punch this man. How was he screwing with Steve’s life so casually? “You offered me a job to write a story about a man’s time in Iraq. Dealing with an unstable… _beast?_ ” It wasn’t a kind word but it’s the closest thing Steve could think of to describe the dark haired man’s behavior. “That was not in the job description.”

 

Fury rolled his eyes and picked up the pile of documents that Steve had handed to him only a few hours before. He flipped quickly through the contracts till he found what he’d been looking for and shoved it in Steve’s face.

 

“I know I’m starting to question it, but I believe you can actually read correct? Section 12 paragraph b subsection c.”

 

Steve grabbed the contract to get a better look at the indicated section.

 

_By signing their acceptance of this job, the candidate indicates his/her understanding that the client requires special handling due to former trauma and thus cannot be released nor may they resign themselves from their duties based solely on their inability to cope with any irregularities in the client’s behavior. It should be reiterated that the goal of the job assignment is for the candidate to aid the client in coming to terms with the aforementioned trauma._

The hell? Steve really should have finished reading through this instead of going out with Sam every night for the past week. To be fair it was a sixty-page contract and Steve could never have dreamed of this outcome.

 

“You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me. I’m not a therapist I’m a writer! I’m not exactly trained in helping these sorts of cases.” Steve resisted the urge to throw the contract back in Fury’s face. He should really look into something to control his sudden bouts of violent urges. “Besides, even if I was, why me? I’m sure any one of you knows him well enough to sit him down and help him out or convince him to actually see a therapist. Why do you need me?”

 

“Precisely because you don’t know him Rogers.” It was truly amazing how Fury could inflect so much “you’re a dumbass, why do I have to put with you” in just a few words. Steve bristled. It was a legitimate question.

 

“The reality is his mind was fractured in Iraq. We’ve spent the last five years trying to counteract the damage.” The dark shadow passing Fury’s face was the first indication of the so far consistently flippant and stoic man having some sort of emotional stake in the situation. He must really care about him, Steve mused.

 

“We’ve been able to cope with certain aspects of the damages but Barnes still has trouble sorting out his mind. After five years we know when to cut our losses and attempt alternative methods. Its been _suggested,_ ” Steve really wanted to figure out whose suggestion this was and strangle them. “That as James is the dominant protector, Bucky needs to relive every aspect of his life before and during the war. Figure out what is real. Or at least create a record of his own version of what is real that he can cope with. When remembering gets to be too much he shuts down, looses time, and James, the personality you met earlier comes out to protect him.” And that, that right there was just so sad. “If we tried it, he would constantly rely on us to tell him what is and isn’t real. He needs a record kept and someone to talk him through it to help him cope and come to grips with what James is protecting him from. Which is where your job comes in Rogers.”

 

“I’m still not a therapist Fury.” Steve was desperate to get the other man to understand that. What he’d seen today… only a therapist could help with that.

 

Fury glowered at him, no doubt irritated at constantly being questioned. He didn’t seem like the type of man who liked to be questioned.

 

“Let me make it clear, since you seem to be having trouble grasping your role in this whole thing. Your job isn’t to fix him. He can fix himself; he just needs a little direction. Your job is to help him write his story so he can start to make sense of what is going on his head and we can help him fuse the current fractures in his psyche. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your training. You just have to talk to the guy.”

 

It was truly inspiring how Fury could make something so insane sound so simple.

 

“Besides,” Fury shrugged, “you’ll get one hell of a story out of it by the end. Isn’t that what you wanted? To launch your career with an interview with the ‘Prince of New York’. Obviously the story will be one that we’ve approved. Once this is over nobody needs to know just how far off the reservation he went.” Steve didn’t want to admit it but Fury was right. It was what he’d wanted. He’d been aware of the rumors and had expected Barnes wasn’t completely okay. He just hadn’t expected it to go like this. 

 

“Look, I’ll be honest with you Rogers.” There’s a change, Steve thought snidely. “This method is a bit unorthodox. Probably won’t even work and could be the dumbest idea we’ve ever had.” Steve was fairly positive that would be the case.

 

“ _However_ ,”Fury continued, “We need to try something since Mr. Barnes has a bit of _distrust_ towards therapists at this point and the lot of us haven’t been entirely useful in helping him cope.” Oh. Judging by the unpleasant twist of Fury’s lips there was a definite story there. Steve wondered what could have possibly happened there that they were seeking out the help of a journalist of all things for such an insane hail mary.

 

“I’m sure it comes as no shock that Mr. Barnes didn’t pick you for this job. Not really.” Of course he didn’t. Steve wasn’t surprised, judging by the man’s reaction to him. This whole thing felt off and manipulated. “In spite of your current profession, we needed someone we thought he would trust not to exploit him on paper or in his head. You have a reputation of not doing that.”

 

Steve almost threw his hands up in exasperation. He’d started to resign himself to the idea that he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon but this… _this_ was getting annoying. “You keep saying that. Mentioning my apparently stellar reputation and noteworthy work. I’ve had maybe five articles in the last two years posted in mainstream papers. Most of my writing has been on small blogs. I’m still not even sure how I got the last couple of gigs at the New York Times. I mean...”

 

“Captain America.” That froze Steve mid-tangent. How did he… where did he… It took a full minute before Steve could compose any sort of response.

 

“Wh-where did you hear that name? What do you know about that?”

 

“I’ve got my sources Cap. Been following your story for years.” Fury was shooting him a shark grin. What the hell did he walk into? Only a few hours ago Steve had been trying to get used to the idea of living in vast wealth and the lengthy process of interviewing an eccentric, billionaire, POW. Everything had been flipped on its head. If Steve had thought he had even the faintest chance of leaving before he sure as hell didn’t now.

 

Captain America. Steve had put that name and the life associated with it behind. However he got the feeling that, however much these people claimed to respect his work – and goodness, those words made so much more sense now – they would have no trouble revealing to the right sources his vaguely vigilante background if he walked out on what they obviously saw as a last ditch effort to save their boss from himself. Steve knew when he was beat.

 

“Fine. I’ll do it. It’s insane and will never work but I’ll do it.” Steve spoke through clenched teeth.

 

“Oh Rogers, it’s cute that you ever thought you had a choice.” Fury patted his shoulder as he left the office, leaving Steve to wonder where it all went wrong. 

* * *

 

Natasha was waiting for Fury outside of his office.

 

“How is Barnes?”

 

They walked together back towards the kitchen.

 

“Better. Bucky is settling in all right now. He’s asking for Tony though.” Fury nodded, making a note to send a message to the man.

 

“What are his thoughts on our current situation?”

 

“Seems willing to meet with Steve and make a go of this whole thing. Have I mentioned that I think this idea is stupid and will just blow up in our faces? You know how James is about outsiders.” Natasha shot him an annoyed look.

 

Bucky. James. It was so hard to keep it straight sometimes. Fury preferred to stick to Barnes. It was less messy that way.

 

“Every day Romanoff, but Barnes has run off every therapist we’ve tried to bring in here. It was all Coulson’s idea, bringing in someone like Rogers with the background and nobility he has as an attempt to get James and Bucky to co-exist. You can blame him if anything goes wrong.”

 

“Oh believe me, I will.” Coulson was practically family to her, but the look on Natasha’s face promised slow agony if his suggested treatment backfired. Natasha and Clint had become very attached to Bucky since their first meeting six and a half years ago.

 

“How is our Mr. Rogers?” Natasha asked, changing the subject.

 

“I had to pull the Cap card.” Fury was a bit annoyed that he’d had to pull that one so early.

 

“Already? How freaked out was he after James’ attack?”

 

“Ready to bolt. To be fair, everyone on the receiving end of the Winter Soldier’s intimidation would be. It is unfortunate though. I was hoping to keep that bit of information as a trump when things really get nasty but Rogers was losing it. I had to reign him in.”

 

Natasha snorted in amusement. “He probably thinks you're going to report him if he makes any fuss.”

 

Fury smirked. “That was the idea. Can’t have our hail mary running off now can we.”

 

“Seriously though.” Fury’s brow furrowed. “The situation is getting worse. Now that we’ve dealt with Hydra’s programming and the Soldier is less of a threat on a daily basis, Bucky seems even more content to let him take over.” Hydra, the perpetual thorn in Fury’s side. They could be thanked for the last five years of relative isolation.

 

“I know.” Natasha looked concerned. Well, as concerned as Natasha could look. “If nothing else, having a stranger in the house will be good. It’ll force Bucky to keep James at bay. Hopefully, he can do it long enough to adjust to what ever it is he’s trying to block and get strong enough that James will stop dominating him.” After five years, it was so odd for Fury to think about Barnes as two separate people.

 

“All I can say sir, is that Rogers better be the man for the job you and Coulson think he his, because if Rogers screws the pooch on this one Coulson isn’t the only person going on my list.”

 

“Understood Romanoff.”

 

The two walked quietly the rest of the way, each lost in thought. Entering the kitchen, Fury snagged a plate of food while Natasha cleaned up. For several minutes the only sounds were of running water and a knife and fork scraping against a plate.

 

The comfortable silence was broken by Clint’s loud laughter just around the corner. Now what are they up to? Fury needed a break. This crazy attempt to fix Barnes better work cause he needed a vacation. Stat. 

 

Clint tumbled into the kitchen, doubled over in laughter and clinging to the long-suffering Coulson to keep him upright. Fury didn’t want to know. He wasn’t sure how Coulson had been able to put up with Barton for so long. After thirty minutes alone with the guy cracking smart-ass jokes, Fury was always ready to shoot him.

 

“Stop cackling like a hyena Barton. Don’t you have a mission you should be prepping for?” Natasha swatted a dishtowel at Clint who ducked out of the way, nearly missing the corner edge of the counter as he slid into one of the bar stools.

 

“Ah come on Nat. Don’t be like that.” He shot her a cheeky grin. “Besides. I checked the leads Fury gave me already with my contacts and they were all bust.” Damn. That was fast. Also frustrating. It’d taken a lot of digging to get those leads.

 

“Looks like your stuck with me a little longer Phil.” Clint pulled Phil in between his legs by the belt loop.

“Such a shame.” Phil sighed in feigned disappointment. “I was so hoping to catch up on Supernanny while you were gone. Guess I’ll have to do something else in my spare time now.” Clint smirked up at him, hands moving to cup Phil’s ass.

 

“Oh Phil, I’m sure we can think of something.”

 

Natasha just shook her head, a fond quirk of a smile playing on her lips. Fury wanted to stab himself in the face with a fork.

 

“Can you two please at least wait till I’m done eating? Damn.”

 

Three fucking years those yutz had been screwing around and they still couldn’t keep it in their pants before noon or around company. Fury almost wished for the awful, awkward pining the two were doing before hand.

 

“Sorry sir.” Coulson, who had a slight modicum of professionalism that Fury was consistently grateful for, backed away to sit on his own bar stool, ignoring Clint’s annoyed whine.

 

“How did the conversation with Rogers go?” Coulson inquired. “Bucky seemed a bit agitated when he ran out of there like a bat out of hell. Complained all through lunch about him too.”

 

“Well,” Fury started. “If you’d been hoping they would hit it off right away and this drama would be over sooner rather than later you might want to strap yourself in for a bumpy ride.”

 

Clint cringed, “That bad, huh?”

 

“You might want to pull some extra security detail to make sure he doesn’t make a late night run for it.”

 

“Noted. Well, I’m off to take a swim now that I don’t have to go off dodging any bullets in some European country I can’t even pronounce.” Clint hopped down from the stool.

 

“Did you not just hear me?”

 

“Yea, yea. I heard you. Extra security. Late night run for it. The pool is literally right in front of his front door. Try not to get your eye-patch in a bunch. Have a little faith ya?” Fury had to remind himself that no, he really couldn’t shoot Barton. Even if he was an annoying little shit.

 

“Come on Phil.” Clint grabbed Coulson by his shirtsleeve and pulled him towards the kitchen entryway. “I found a new suit I want to see you in.”

 

“No fucking in the pool guys! We all swim in there.” Natasha shouted after them muttering curses in Russian at Clint’s flippant, “Oh live a little Nat.” as he dragged a red-faced Coulson out.

 

Oh yes. If Steve was able to help Bucky, Fury was definitely going on an extended vacation to all points nowhere far away from these people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit rushed so I apologise if anything was confusing. If anything needs clarification feel free to ask and i'll do the necessary editing.


	4. Lotus Buds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve stops trying to run away and he and Bucky have a heart to heart.

Steve doesn’t make a late night run for it, but it’s a near thing.

 

Instead, that evening found Steve sitting by the poolside with his feet dipped in the cool water dressed in cotton shorts and faded t-shirt. Clint and Coulson had wandered inside about an hour and a half ago. It wasn’t his proudest moment, sneaking occasional glances out the window to check when the coast was clear, but at this point Steve just wanted to avoid everyone for as long as possible. He contemplated hiding inside the guesthouse for the next month but the growl in his stomach quickly vetoed that option. He really needed to look into getting some food for the currently empty cupboard and fridge in his kitchen.

 

Steve kicked at the water, trying to come to grips with his new circumstances. Running away would be easier, but the sooner he showed he couldn’t help the sooner he could probably get out of here without inciting any legal reprimand. At least he was getting paid in the meantime and would have something to show for the insanity he was living in. The growling and clenching discomfort in his stomach grew worse. Groaning, Steve stood and headed back towards the main house, determined not to get lost on the way back to the main kitchen. With any luck the occupants of the house would all be asleep by this time and he could snag something from the fridge.

 

The hope that thought gave him dissipated at the sight of Clint wandering the halls, dressed comfortably in black sweatpants and fitted yellow shirt with a flamboyant, colored logo Steve wasn’t familiar with.

 

“Stevie!” Clint grinned, running over to him. Steve tried not to scowl. The man had been cordial so far and seemed ready to come to his defense earlier.

 

“What are you doing wandering around so late? No one’s seen you since that outburst earlier. Starting to wonder if we need to send out the search parties.” Outburst. That was such a mild way to put it.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not running.” Yet. “I got a bit hungry and I didn’t have any food in the guesthouse. Was just going to pop in to the kitchen and see if there weren’t any leftovers I could heat up.”

 

“Oh you don’t need to do that. I’m sure Nat would be happy to make you something fresh.” Clint threw his arm over Steve’s shoulder and started pulling him in the direction of the kitchen.

 

“Oh. No. Really. I just wanted to pop in and out. No need to disturb her.” Steve made an attempt to duck away from Clint’s grip but he just held on tighter. Steve groaned inwardly. So much for avoiding the household.

 

“Nonsense. Don’t tell her I said this,” He spoke in a hushed whisper, “but she’s kind of a mother hen. She tries to be all aloof but she’s really soft and cuddly underneath.” Clint shot him a conspiratorial look; as if this was privileged information that Steve should be honored to have shared with him.

 

Steve just nodded awkwardly, “Rigghhtt…”

 

“Besides.” Clint winked at him. “She’s already in the kitchen. It would be kind of hard to avoid her.”

 

Sure enough, when the entered the kitchen the small red haired woman was fussing around with various plates and muttering to herself in Russian. She looked up at their entrance, a momentary hint of confusion in the furrow of her brow.

 

“What do you want Barton, I’m busy.”

 

“I found the new guy wandering around like a lost puppy. Figured you could make him some treats.” He pushed Steve into one of the barstools before claiming one for himself.

 

“Really, you don’t have to.” Steve shot Clint an annoyed look at the puppy comment. “I just haven’t eaten anything all day and was gonna just grab some leftovers from the fridge. No fuss necessary.” Steve was itching to get out of there and back to the comfortable isolation of the guesthouse.

 

“You need to relax Rogers. We don’t bite. Well, maybe James…”Natasha shot Clint a filthy look who just grinned innocently.

 

“It’s not a problem Steve.” Natasha spoke up. “I’ll make you some baked ziti. You look like you could use some comfort food. Think of it as an apology for how things went down earlier.”

 

“Ooo. That sounds good, make me a plate too.” Clint interjected, reaching for a cookie from the jar in the middle of the island.

 

Natasha looked like she wanted to say something but just grabbed a set of plates from the cupboard and set to work on gathering the ingredients and lighting the stove and oven.

 

None of them said anything for several minutes, Clint happily munching away at his swiped cookies and Natasha quickly dicing up onions. Steve started tapping on the counter in agitation. This was awkward.

 

“So…” Steve managed, “How did you two come to work here?” It was a question that had been weighing on him. They were both fairly young. Too young to have been in such prominent house hold positions before Steve assumed the rest of the staff had been dismissed.

 

“We met Buck on assignment in Iraq.” Clint answered at the same time Natasha said, “Friends of the family.”

 

“ _Clint!_ ” Natasha hissed out, eyes narrowed, pointing her chef knife at Clint dangerously.

 

“What?” Clint threw his hands up in exasperation. “He was bound to found out eventually. Might as well let him know that everyone on the grounds is a former agent of some kind now. Figure he’s been lied to enough as it is for one day.”

 

“Wait.” Steve was trying to compile this new bit of intel. “ALL of you are former military? Even Coulson?” Natasha and Clint he could see, the stealthy way they moved and the way they jumped to attention when Barnes had been threatening him. Hell, Fury made complete sense. Only someone who was former agent of some sort could be such a manipulative ass. However, Coulson seemed so unassuming and unlike any military personnel he’d ever met before.

 

Clint snorted. “Oh definitely Coulson. Former army ranger and one of the deadliest people I’ve ever met. I’ll have to let him know you thought he was just an average civilian. He likes to work that angle to his advantage.” He looked proud, a fond smile playing on his lips. Steve should probably re examine his earlier summation of that relationship, especially after the glimpses he caught of them earlier that evening in the pool.

 

“We’re not all former military though. Just Barnes and Coulson. Since were apparently sharing,” Natasha shot Clint an annoyed look as she layered the ingredients into a pan, “Clint and I were doing work for a third party as a two man stealth team that assisted Barnes’ squad on a few missions. Coulson was our handler. You make friends quick in the trenches.” Natasha gave a quirked brow and shrug as if to say, ‘what are you going to do.’

 

“Okay… but how did you guys end up working for him now? And if you all met him in Iraq, how does Fury fit into it?” Steve was quickly getting used to the idea that there was always something going on that everyone was avoiding talking about.

 

Natasha and Clint shot each other a speculative look, obviously trying to find a way to answer Steve’s question that wouldn’t reveal whatever they were all hiding.

 

“Fury…” Natasha paused, “Fury is Fury.” Steve wanted to throw something. That wasn’t an answer. Sensing his irritation, Clint jumped in, “He’s our boss. He was our boss then too. We had all gotten attached to Barnes and when the enemy captured him Fury allowed us to track him down after the U.S. military gave up. Took us too long though.” A dark shadow crossed his face at the memory. It was an odd look on the so far consistently grinning, sarcastic man.

 

Steve suddenly felt bad for bringing up such unpleasant memories. He still hadn’t gotten an answer as to why they were Barnes’ only staff now, but Steve opted to drop the topic. It didn’t really matter anyway. They were obviously loyal to Barnes, not as an employer – and Steve was starting to speculate if that was even accurate – but as a friend they’d fought and bled with. Their bond must run deep if they’d been willing to dedicate five years of their life so far to helping him get better. Even so, Steve felt like he was staring at a nearly completed puzzle but was still missing that last key piece necessary to finish it.

 

He let the conversation drop back into silence; gratefully accepting the plate of food Natasha handed him several minutes later. He bit into the pasta, nearly moaning. It was amazing. Clint had a bit less decorum, openly groaning in between shoving several forkfuls of food in his mouth.

 

“Nat. You’re an angel in black tights.”

 

“Stop moaning at the table Clint. Save it for Phil. No one needs to see that.” Clint flipped her off.

 

Steve’s mouth quirked at the easy camaraderie between the two. He ate another mouthful of pasta, listening to Natasha and Clint banter and felt himself start to really relax for the first time since he’d arrived at the Estate. The situation was still screwed on the surface, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He wasn’t itching to run anymore at the very least.

 

* * *

 

Steve woke the next morning to a pounding on his front door. He twisted in the silk sheets – and by God Steve was going to splurge on a set when he got home – to glance blearily at the bedside clock. It read 5:03. Who the hell needed him this early in the morning? The sun wasn’t even out yet. Steve tried to go back to sleep, whoever it was could wait till a decent hour, but the pounding just got more incessant. Cursing, Steve threw back the covers and headed downstairs. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he opened the door yelling at whoever was there. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

 

“Early enough for a run don’t you think?”

 

Steve dropped his hand, startled and suddenly more alert. Barnes was standing at his front stoop, cool as you please as if he hadn’t just been pounding out the beat to what Steve was pretty sure was Sandman – the cheeky shit - on his front door before six in the morning.

 

“What?”

 

“Running. You know. Faster than walking. You use both your legs.” Barnes looked like he was about to start demonstrating.

 

“I know what running is.” It was too damn early for this. “What I don’t understand is what you're doing here before the sun’s even up.”

 

“Thanks to James we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.” That was putting it mildly. “If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the next few weeks we might as well break the ice and get some stuff out in the open. There’s a spot I want to show you about a mile from here, but we need to get there before sunrise.”

 

It seemed he was dealing with Bucky at the moment, which relaxed Steve a bit. He contemplated refusing the olive branch and retreating back to his bed and not coming out till he was awake enough to deal with people.

 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed off the premises?”

 

“Oh. You’re not. The spot I want to show you is on the property. Now, are you coming?”

 

Steve mulled it over. Bucky seemed eager and Steve had to confess, after calming down a bit from the scare the day before, he was curious about Barnes. He caved.

 

“Fine. Just let me get changed.”

 

Bucky lit up. “Awesome. Oh, and Rogers?” Steve paused in closing the door to look at him curiously. “I love your bedtime look. Very minimalist.” Steve glanced down. Shit. He was only wearing boxers. He shut the door quickly, face flushed. Running up the stairs he could just make out Bucky’s chortle.

 

It was like night and day dealing with Bucky versus James.

 

Minutes later Bucky was leading a now dressed Steve along a man made path. Judging by how he avoided every branch and loose rock as he ran - even in the dark -  Steve would guess that he’d run this path fairly often over the years. They’d been running for several minutes when they finally came across a grassy clearing with a small lake.

 

“Now what?” Steve was breathing heavily. He should really run more. Bucky looked as if he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

 

“Just give it a minute. The sun should be rising soon.”

 

Light started creeping into the clearing, exposing the several flowers on the small lake. As the sun grew higher, and the light grew brighter, the flower buds started to open and bloom. Lotus. It was a beautiful sight. Steve snuck a look at Bucky who was ignoring him in favor of crouching by the edge of the lake, reaching out to one of the budding flowers.

 

“My mother planted these when I was a kid. Did you know the Lotus is a sacred flower for Buddhists? Depending on the number of petals it’s meant to symbolize harmony or spiritual illumination. When it’s just a bud it symbolizes potential.”

 

“It’s beautiful.” Steve replied, voice soft. This place obviously meant a lot to the other man. “Why are you showing it to me?”

 

“Because I need you to understand and I’ve always been a visual person. Expressing personal things has never been my strong suit.” Bucky plopped onto the log next to Steve, expression serious. “After what happened in Iraq… I feel like I’ve been wandering in darkness. Like the bud waits each morning for the light, I’ve been searching for some sort of clarity about what happened to me. James and I… were two sides of the same person but broken. Fractured by whatever happened there. I keep hoping that if we can find the clarity we each need it will fix us, harmonize us, but…”

 

“Don’t you remember?” Steve queried, interrupting Bucky’s speech.

 

Bucky scoffed, “Not even a little bit. Which let me tell you, is worse than remembering.”

 

“How can not remembering months of torture possibly be worse than remembering it?”

 

Bucky threw a twig into the water, agitated. “It’s not just the torture I don’t remember. Large chunks of my time as a regular soldier are gone too. My body is covered in scars and I can’t remember how I got them. I can barely remember how I lost my damn arm.” He glared down at the useless stub.

 

“I created James during the torture to protect myself and for a time it was easier that way. Not remembering and letting him take the brunt of the violent memories. Whenever the memories start bleeding in or he feels I’m over agitated he takes over before I can remember or stop him. The problem is he gets a bit… volatile.” Steve could attest to that. He refrained from commenting on the violent personality and took a seat on the cold, wet, log beside Bucky. He looked so lost, unlike the smiling charming man Steve had started to associate with this side of him.

 

“Do you know what its like to have a fear and an instinct but no idea why you have it?” Bucky queried, staring out at the lake, fidgeting with a branch in his one hand. “For two years after I got back I couldn’t go near water for fear of drowning. Taking showers were a nightmare.” Bucky scoffed bitterly. “Even now I can only wade into the water up to my waist before I start to panic. We don’t celebrate Fourth of July anymore cause the sound of fireworks has me hitting the floor and I _don’t. know. WHY.”_ Bucky’s voice cracked, and the branch he had been fidgeting with crunched under his grip.

 

Steve didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine how lost he must feel. Having all the damage of war with none of the memories and no reference from which to really start healing. To be unable to go into public for fear something might trigger an unknown response and James comes out swinging in defense. To be imprisoned in your own mind. It was a terrible curse. 

 

They sat side by side for several minutes, not speaking, just watching the sunrise and listening to the sounds of nature. Steve was starting to come to grips with what a total ass he was being about Bucky’s situation when the other man spoke up.

 

“I’m sorry by the way.” Steve startled.

 

“For what? James? I know I’ve been freaking out a bit, but after what I’ve been told in the last twenty-four hours I’m not even sure if I can really blame him. Still not eager for a repeat encounter but I can understand his logic. I think.”

 

Bucky smiled at him with a toothy grin, dark blue eyes softening, “You're sweet Rogers. I can see why Fury picked you. You’re a good guy to have stuck around.” Steve wanted to protest that he was only there and hadn’t made a run for it because Fury had practically black mailed him, but a small part of him was starting to want to stay. Not just for the story either. He just wasn’t sure what for.

 

“I’m still sorry though. Fury probably didn’t fill you on my condition and baited you with a big exclusive tell all story about the ‘Prince of New York.’” Bucky actually made air quotes. “Finally, he dropped the bomb on you that you're supposed to use your ‘journalism savvy’ to interview me and James and create a record to help me remember so I can fix what’s wrong with me.”

 

“I’m not a therapist.” Steve felt like he’d had to remind people of this a lot more than strictly necessary.

 

“Oh I know. And thank God.” Bucky actually looked relieved not to be dealing with a therapist.

 

“Fury mentioned your aversion to therapists.” 

 

“Let’s just say there were attempts made to bring in therapists and they were all a total bust.”

 

“Why?”

 

“James.” As if that was the answer to everything going wrong with his life. Which, Steve considered, it just might be.

 

“James hates therapists. He doesn’t like how they poke around in your head. I can only assume there was a great deal of that during my six months of torture.”

 

“So Fury called in a journalist? We don’t exactly have a reputation for not exploiting a story.” This is the thing that kept bugging Steve about the whole assignment.

 

Bucky gave out a sharp bark of laughter. “You weren’t hired just because you were a journalist. Fury told me there were things in your background that indicated you were trustworthy and were too noble to exploit my situation or run away from someone in need.” Steve pointedly didn’t mention that he’d almost done exactly that. It probably wouldn’t help the situation. “The fact that you’re a writer is honestly just a plus and a reason to draw you in.”

 

“That. That is just manipulative and crazy.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “That’s Fury. He’s really not above manipulation and we were running out of options.”  

 

Steve considered this. “Hey, Bucky? What exactly did Fury tell you about my history?”

 

Bucky thought it over. “Not much… basically just what I already told you. He said you were trustworthy so that was good enough for me.”

 

“You trust him that much? Even when you just said he’s manipulative?”

 

“Of course.” Bucky gave him a look as though that should have been obvious. “He’s one of the few good guys I know.”

 

Steve could debate that.

 

Bucky stood, wiping the leaves off the back of his baggy red sweatpants. “Alright, enough of this melodrama Rogers. We should probably head back. I’m starting to get hungry.”

 

The sun had completely risen while they’d been talking. The soft morning light highlighted the undertones of Bucky’s dark hair. Rather than running, the two walked back along the path in companionable silence. Bucky seemed to be mulling something over in his mind, full lips quirked in a thoughtful frown.

 

When they reached the glass doors heading into the main house Bucky paused and shot Steve a speculative look.

 

“Hey. You’re a writer Steve. Tell me. What’s gonna be story? What tale are you gonna spin about the fractured James Buchanan Barnes? Is he the soldier, the monster? Or the weak prince that couldn’t take care of himself?”

 

It was a heavy question, but there was no good way to answer that question directly so Steve tried for an indirect response. “Your story will be whatever you want it to be.” It was a cop out answer but it was still true. He’d long since given up hope for happy endings himself, but since he was going to be sticking around for awhile Steve made the resolution to help this man find a happy ending to his story. How ever long it took. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure when I'll be posting the next chapter. I have to turn in the next chapter of my dissertation by Thursday and then I'll be out of the country for a few days. I'll try and work on the next chapter while I'm gone but it could be a week and half from now before it gets posted. As always, feedback is adored! :)
> 
> UPDATE 6/10: Sorry, itll be a few more days till the next chapter is up. Turns out I have to rewrite the entire first half of my dissertation this week and I'm going to be out of the country again this weekend.


	5. Family Doesn't End in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is being super sketchy, Tony makes an appearance, and Steve gets a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Sorry this took ages to get up. I didn't get as much plot written in this chapter as I intended. It all kind of ran away from me when Bucky and Steve started bonding. I'll try and have the next one up sooner than it took me to update this one!

Steve isn’t sure when he stopped freaking out about being a veritable prisoner in an East Hampton estate. Doodling by the lotus covered lake, Steve wished he could call Sam and talk to him about what life was like at the estate and how a promising job offer had gone so sideways. He wanted someone other than Clint and Nat to talk to about how worried he was sometimes about Bucky. Sometimes Steve would stare out the window to see Barnes standing still at the edge of the pool and would watch as he slowly inched into the pool to his chest before bolting out of the pool, crouched low and breathing heavily, muttering to himself while clenching his head.

 

He recalled Sam’s parting words about not acting like a ‘snippy bitch’ if Barnes had turned out to be crazy, which Steve had totally failed at during their first meeting.

Not that Barnes was crazy, not really. Steve may have thought it to himself multiple times during the first few days but after seeing the conflict in Barnes as he tried to control each side of himself, Steve could only see a man of strength trying to overcome the results of unspeakable horrors. Steve could see glimpses of the old charming, seductive ‘prince of New York’ Bucky once was behind his current front of charm and bravado but mostly Steve caught how his smile never quite reached his eyes, laugh always just a little too forced, and the lost look in his eyes every time Bucky thought nobody was looking.

 

After that first conversation in the woods Bucky had joined Steve, Nat, and Clint for breakfast. Fury had been off doing who knows what with Coulson. Steve had felt like an outsider watching the three of them have unspoken conversations with simple glances and eyebrow rises over bacon and eggs. The familiarity left Steve wishing for Sam, who had been like his brother since they were teenagers. Every so often Natasha and Bucky would start taking to each other in Russian, much to Clint’s annoyance. Clint accused Bucky and Natasha of talking crap about him – which, Bucky told Steve later, they absolutely had been. Barnes’ mother had apparently been Russian and had taught him the language before she died. When he met Nat in the trenches they had bonded over it and used it to jibe Clint when he was being irritating. Now it had become a long-standing joke.

 

Breakfast had turned into an impromptu poker tournament with Oreo’s instead of money – Clint’s idea - where Steve got a first hand look at just how scary good Natasha’s poker face was. Clint and Bucky were no slouches, but Natasha was on another level. He could never get a read on her the entire game. Every time Steve rose, she just raised him back, rarely glancing down at her cards. Nearly every time he folded she would smirk and reveal a useless hand. After a few rounds, Steve begged off to shower and spent the day reading and occasionally taking halfhearted notes by the poolside. Days passed in much the same way, Steve waking for breakfast with the others before wasting the day holed up with books or doodling in the notepad he was meant to be taking notes on. Clint would always join him around lunchtime – sometimes with Coulson trailing behind him - sandwiches in hand. Steve rarely saw Fury and Natasha in the last few days. When he asked Clint, he just told him that they had pressing work that they had to deal with.

 

Occasionally, Bucky would come by to show him around the property, claiming it was nice to have a new guy around. The two would talk about nothing and everything from exchanging stories about friends to debates about books – Bucky, Steve had been endlessly amused to discover, had a secret love the Stookie Stackhouse books. “At least its not Twilight!” Bucky had defended. They would wander and talk until Bucky started getting a pinched look on his face and Steve knew they should head back. They had become friends of a sort, and bonded a lot quicker than Steve remembered bonding with anyone.

 

Technically he had still been hired to write a book, but Steve was having a hard time deciding if that was still what he wanted. It felt exploitative to write about what was going on in Bucky’s head and so far Steve hadn’t tried to press him for information. However, Fury had also hired him to help Bucky and James, but Steve didn’t know the first thing about how to get around to that even though he found himself wishing to be useful in helping Buck.

 

James had made a couple appearances – if you could call them that. Steve had noticed James watching him from the second floor terrace every so often when Steve was doodling outside. Steve could recognize the subtle difference in how James held himself, tight and alert – ready to pounce. It was a bit unnerving at first, but he had quickly grown used to it. Nat had explained over a late night drink on the porch that James was trying to figure him out, decide if he was a threat. So, whenever he felt that stare on him Steve would wave kindly in acknowledgment and hold a beer up in offering, but he never came down. Steve was working up to going up and talking to the guy but Steve was still wary about being in close quarters with the volatile personality.

 

He had settled into a routine in the past couple of weeks, but that routine was starting to grate on Steve’s nerves. When Coulson had gone to town to finally pick up some groceries for Steve and run a couple of errands Steve had nearly begged to go into town with him, but was gently reminded that he wasn’t supposed to leave. The tension in the air, and the expectations everyone had of him to help Barnes was driving Steve over the edge and he wished for something to happen to break up the routine and push this whole process along.

 

* * *

 

Steve threw himself back on to the grass, groaning in agitation. The sun was starting to go down and his stomach was growling. Clint was probably wondering where he’d run off to, having missed their daily lunch date. It was such a little thing, but even that break in routine left Steve feeling weirdly better for a couple hours. Even so, he was starving and should probably head back before they thought he had made a run for it and came looking for him.

 

The walk back was quick and familiar, but as the estate grew into view, something seemed different. Growing closer he noticed that for once everyone was hanging around on the back deck with a man Steve didn’t recognize. Odd. According to all the stories no one was ever allowed on the property that didn’t work there.

 

“Yo, Stevie!” Clint, who was manning an outdoor grill, waved him over. “We were just about to send out the search party. How do you like your steak?”

 

Everyone was here for once. Even Fury made an attempt at casual and relaxed in black jeans and shirt, sitting with his legs stretched out along the porch swing. However, the image was ruined as Fury kept checking his watch and phone as if there was a pressing appointment he needed to keep.

 

“Um. Medium.” Steve dropped his notebook on the table, grabbing the empty chair between Natasha – who was dressed casually in jean shorts and blue tank – and Bucky – who looked tired but handsome in a short sleeved, dark-blue button up - which highlighted his blue eyes quite nicely - over a V-neck black t-shirt and dark wash jeans. His dark hair had grown a bit in the past couple weeks and looked artfully messy. What struck Steve was how relaxed he seemed. Bucky was glancing fondly at the man Steve didn’t recognize as the man and Clint bickered over the right way to make steaks. It was one of the few times Bucky had seemed truly happy since Steve had been there. Steve felt oddly jealous and protective. He pushed that feeling away quickly, unsure where the sudden impulse had come from.

 

“Who is the new guy?” Steve whispered softly to Natasha.

 

“Tony Stark.”

 

“ _The_ Tony Stark!” Steve did a double take and stared at the older man. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized him. He was in the news or on a magazine cover practically every other day. CEO of Stark Enterprises, Stark was a wealthy and prominent figure in New York. Primarily a tech company, Stark Enterprises had been prominent in the weapons market until recent years where they had begun to branch out into new fields. His more… salacious evening activities are what drew so much media attention. The other week a couple guys at the bar had been going on about his latest activities involving a couple maxim models, a sheep, and an umbrella. Steve hadn’t bothered to ask for details, he wasn’t sure if knowing would be better than whatever he’d been imagining.

 

Nat smirked. “You’re drooling a little you know.” She lifted her hand to brush away imaginary drool. Steve gave her a flat look.

 

“I’m just surprised.” He tried not to sound indignant. “I wasn’t expecting someone like him to show up. Besides I thought you guys never had visitors.” There sure hadn’t been any since he’d arrived.

 

“Tony likes to drop in every now and again and cause mayhem. Clint always bitches about the _ridiculous changes_ to the security system every time he sneaks in.” Nat spoke pointedly in Tony’s direction.

 

“Oh please firefly.” Tony waved off the comment, handing a plate of food to a still agitated Fury. “My upgrades are works of art. Besides, if you didn’t want the system upgraded you shouldn’t make it so easy to break in… OW! Hey watch where you’re poking that thing feathers.” Clint blinked innocently at Tony, who was rubbing at his side and glaring at Clint. 

 

Nat shook her head at them. Before she could respond the faint sound of Coulson’s phone going off sounded. He fumbled with the beer he’d been nursing in his haste to answer the device. Fury perked up in interest, from his perch. Coulson stood and moved over to the door as he answered with a curt, ‘This is Phil’, and nodding every so often at whatever the person on the other end was saying. Natasha and Clint eyed him in what they probably thought was discreet, while carrying on mindless banter over the security system. It was one of those moments where Steve was sure he was missing something important.

 

Tony plopped into the seat across from Steve. “We haven’t been properly introduced. Names Tony Stark. You may know who I am. Here, have a drink.” A bottle of beer was thrust under Steve’s nose. He gaped awkwardly at the bottle that Tony was holding out expectantly. Barely managing an “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Stark. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” Steve took the offered alcohol, mentally smacking himself for being so awkward. He took a long pull of the bitter liquid, trying to come up with a more coherent response. It was something about the aura this guy gave off. Steve found himself flustered and second-guessing every grooming decision he’d ever made. Which was ironic when Stark was wearing a worn shirt and jeans and sporting a goatee that needed trimming. 

 

Tony’s eyebrows rose at the greeting. “Well aren’t you polite. Call me Tony, seriously. The whole ‘mr.’ thing makes me feel so...” Tony waved his hand, face scrunched up in thought searching for an appropriate word, “old.” Tony decided. “Yes. It makes me feel very, very old. You wouldn’t want to call me an old man now would you?” Tony’s face was playfully stern. Bucky just watched their exchange with amusement, absently pulling on a loose tablecloth thread. He hadn’t said anything since Steve sat down.

 

Steve shook his head, floundering. “No! No. Of course not Mr. Sta… I mean Tony, sir.” Where was the closest bridge he could throw himself off? Nat looked at him amused, wiping imaginary drool from her face. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t react like this when he met Bucky and they – Bucky and Tony - were equally rich and powerful individuals. Meeting Bucky and interacting with him and been calming and comfortable, after the unfortunate initial incident.

 

Tony chuckled, taking a drink from a wine glass. “Calm your tits, kid. I’ll get you an autograph later.” Steve flushed.

  
Fortunately at that moment, Phil had finally hung up and interjected the awkward encounter. “Tasha. You, me and Fury are needed to go take care of some stuff.” Phil straightened out his shirt, pulling on a professional persona. Wordlessly, Nat downed the rest of her beer and ran inside after Fury, who had slunk away in the background.

 

Clint frowned a bit at Phil. “I thought tonight was supposed to be everyone’s night off? Just have some steaks and beer and hang out. Maybe get uptight Rogers drunk and record it for posterity.” Steve choked on his beer at that. He flipped Clint off, who ignored him, still staring Phil down with an irritated grimace. Coulson gave a frustrated sigh, placing his hands on Clint’s hips and pulling him in. “Come here, babe.” Clint’s hands clasped at Phil’s back. Coulson murmured something into Clint’s ear. Steve couldn’t hear the conversation but Clint’s expression softened. Clint nodded slightly, brushing a small kiss under Phil’s ear before taking a step back and letting him go. He still didn’t look pleased. Phil reached out to touch Clint’s face, but Clint backed away, crossing his arms over his chest. Normally quick witted and sarcastic, Clint just looked distressed and resigned. Phil let his hand drop down to his side. He looked to the door and back to Clint a few times. In the end he made his way back inside.

 

It was quite for several moments. Steve wasn’t sure if he should do something. He and Clint had become friends in the last couple weeks, but he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ had just transpired.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night guys.” Clint shut off the grill, shooting them all a grim smile.

 

“You sure?” Bucky inquired.

 

“Yea…I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Rogers, don’t forget lunch.” He grabbed the bottle of wine Tony had been drinking from and made for the door, ignoring the indignant squawking from Tony.

 

Tony, Steve, and Bucky looked awkwardly at each other for several moments. Eventually, Tony shrugged. “More for us.” He got up to do… something with the food.

 

“What just happened? He gonna be okay?” Steve muttered to Bucky.

 

“Yea... he’ll be fine. This happens sometimes.” Bucky looked mostly unconcerned. Steve waited for some sort of explanation but none was forthcoming. Guess tonight wouldn’t be the night he figured out why everyone kept disappearing.  

 

“Come on guys. Enough moping. It’s supposed to be a party. Here’s your steak Jamie. All cut up and everything.” He set a plate down in front of Bucky with a flourish and teasing grin.

 

“Ugh, please don’t call me that. Also, I’m not five. You don’t need to cut up my food for me.”

 

“Please. You’re my favorite non – blood related nephew. It is an uncles’ right to call their nephews by terrible names and treat them like children.”

 

“I’m your only nephew, blood relation or not. Also, if you always take children to see and do the kind of stuff you took me out for, I should tell you I feel obliged to report you.” The tension eased as Bucky and Tony fell into banter, Steve interjecting with his own commentary every so often.

 

“Tony’s practically family.” Bucky told Steve while Tony was inside grabbing some wine – “feathers owes me a new bottle. That shit ain’t cheap.” Bucky’s tone is fond as he spears a chunk of meat with a fork. “My father and him worked on a few projects together when I was a kid and Tony was about 25 and just taken over Stark Enterprises.” It was the first time they’d talked about family together. Despite the two of them bonding, Bucky had always remained closed off and aloof about certain topics that he held close. Steve felt like he was finally being trusted enough to peak behind the curtain and wasn’t sure what to do with that trust.

 

“Tony never treated me like a kid. Though, to be honest, when he and my father weren’t coming up with crazy new ideas I’m pretty sure he only hung around our house at first in order to hook up with my nanny.” Bucky grinned openly at the memory. “Pepper was great. She didn’t fall over her feet for him. Still won’t in fact. She gives him a good run for his money. They would actually be pretty great together, but Tony has too much of a reputation and refuses to settle down.” Steve was very familiar with that reputation.

 

“Where is Pepper now? Did you not want her to stay with you?”

 

Bucky considered the question. “I did, but I didn’t want her to see me like this. The others… they’ve seen their fair share of things but Pepper… after my mother died she was the closest thing I had.”

 

“You didn’t want her to watch you fall apart.” Steve could understand that.

 

Bucky barked out a sardonic laugh and took a long pull of beer. “That’s one way to put it. It’s all right though. She’s brilliant. Pep would sometimes act as my father’s PA and got to know the company better than anyone. She’s running it for me right now until I get better.” The _if_ I get better went unsaid.

 

“You still miss her though, don’t you?”

Bucky didn’t answer the question. Instead he asked, “Am I terrible for not letting her see me for the last five years and leaving her to run my company?”

 

“No.” Steve’s answer was immediate. Bucky didn’t look convinced.

 

“Look… my dad..” Steve paused, unsure where to start. He hadn’t talked about his parents in years to anyone that wasn’t Sam, but when he looked at the pain in Bucky’s eyes he just wanted to comfort him. Besides, if he wanted Bucky to be open with him he should try to be open with Bucky.

 

“My father was a captain in the army. I used to think I’d grow up and just be like him. I’d tell him that I would become a captain and single handedly save America. He always laughed and would call me his little ‘Captain America.’ He told me that if I was going to single handedly save America I needed an appropriate rank and title.” Steve avoided Bucky’s gaze, tears prickling at the corner of his eye. He hadn’t thought about that name in years, or about where it had really come from. Fury had threatened him with that title because of its use in his more… lawless past that he was currently suppressing all memory of, but Fury had no clue where the name had come from. 

 

“Stevie…” Steve felt a warm hand grasp his, stopping him from his mindless ripping apart of his paper napkin.

 

“Steve you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Bucky’s face was closer now than it was before. He was chewing his bottom lip the way he did when he was nervous or worried. Steve found it slightly endearing oddly enough.

 

“No… just… I have a point I swear. Just let me get this out okay?” He took a deep breath, reclaiming control of his emotions.

 

“Okay.” Bucky watched him with rapt attention, never letting go of his hands.

 

“My point is, before he left for his last tour he was just like every other dad who loved his wife and kid, and I wanted nothing more than to be him. After that last tour… he was different. For months he suffered from PTSD, guilt and depression. I was just a kid and I didn’t know what to do or how to help him. My mother tried but she just fell apart emotionally from the stress. Then one day when I was 12 I came home from school to cops at our front door and an ambulance in the driveway…” Steve swallowed harshly. This was the hard part. “I came home and found my mother crying at the dining table with officers questioning her. My father had shot himself while my mother was at the store. She’d only left him alone for maybe 20 minutes.”

 

Bucky gasped, wide eyed, clenching Steve’s hands tighter. “I never… You never…”

 

“Nobody knows except for my best friend Sam and a few kids I ran around with as a teenager. Look. I’m not telling you this to get you to feel sorry for me.” That was the last thing he wanted. “I’m telling you because I get it. I get why you don’t want Pepper here and why the only people you’ve let close to you the past five years are all military. Its heartbreaking to watch someone you love suffer like that. However, Nat and the rest also understand what you saw probably better than anyone. I’m also telling you this because I need you to understand how strong you are.”

 

Bucky flinched. He sunk back into his chair, running the hand that had been grasping Steve’s through his hair roughly.

 

“I’m not strong. If I’d been strong I wouldn’t have James. I would be able to go outside without stressing out over whether or not something will set me off.”

 

“You have James because you’re strong and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself.” Bucky scoffed and tried to stand. Steve pushed him down, hand gripping the other man’s knee. “No, you are. I’ve only been here a few weeks and I’m blown away by your strength in the face of everything you’ve been through. My father lost his fight within two years but you… you keep going..”

 

“That’s cause I don’t remember anything! Or have you forgotten that bit.” Bucky snapped. He was breathing heavily, eyes clenched shut and hand pinching his nose in the way he did when he was trying to keep James out.

 

“You’re right.” Steve tried to remain calm despite the emotional roller coaster he was on. The things he was finding himself willing to go through for this man. “You don’t remember, but why does that mean you aren’t strong? You told me yourself you’re trying to deal with all the PTSD and depression and … _mess_ that comes from what you’ve been through without any of the memories to sort it all out. I believe if you let the memories in and if you let James give up his role of protector and let it all in you’re strong enough to handle it. To win the fight for real.”

 

Bucky looked like he was trying not to cry. It broke something in Steve to see him like this. He’d been so happy and relaxed earlier for once and now Steve had ruined it.

 

“I believe in you Bucky. Your friends believe in you. We all just want you to get better.” He spoke in a soothing voice, trying to ease the other man’s anxiety.

 

“You just want your damn story!” Bucky yelled, shoving Steve’s hand off of his knee and pacing up and down the deck. “As long as you get the details of what happened to me what the _fuck_ do you care about what happens to me? This is my _life_ Rogers. I don’t need your false pity, sob stories or grand speeches.”

 

Steve felt like he’d been slapped. He breathed deeply and tried to remind himself that Bucky was just lashing out to protect himself. It didn’t mean the accusations hurt any less.

 

Steve glared at him darkly. “Don’t you _dare_. Don’t you dare accuse me of being such a shallow _ass._ I’m trying to be open with you here Barnes. I get that this sucks but we are all trying to help. Believe it or not I do actually care what happens to you.”

 

“Why?” The word was strangled. Bucky braced himself against one of the pillars, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Fury practically kidnapped you, James attacked you, I’m chock full of issues. You should _hate_ me.”

 

Steve spent a moment wondering where Tony was and at the same time being grateful that he hadn’t made an appearance. He didn’t want an audience for this conversation. “I probably should.” Steve conceded. Bucky flinched. “I don’t though. You’re right that this whole situation is screwy and it might be a weird bit of Stockholm syndrome but I care about everyone here. Maybe not Fury but he’s an ass.” He added the last part as a bit of a joke to try and lighten the mood. Bucky snorted, so he counts it as a win. He debated saying the next bit.

 

“I especially care about you Bucky. I _want_ to help you. You could fire me right now, tell me there was no story, and I would still want to stick around because you’ve somehow managed to become my friend and someone I really, _really_ care about and trust.” He cared a lot more than he really should all things considered.

 

“I don’t know how to believe you.” Bucky looked shattered and exposed. Steve was amazed that James hadn’t made an appearance at this point, but was grateful. He wanted this to get through to Bucky.

 

Steve stood and approached Bucky warily. He put his hands on Bucky’s cheeks and forced him to look up at him. “Do you trust me?”

 

Bucky didn’t answer him for a long time. Steve was giving up any hope of Bucky answering him when he heard a quiet “Yes.” It was one little, quietly spoken word but it was the sweetest thing he’d heard in a long time. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.

 

He smiled softly at Bucky, who was looking at him oddly; as if he was almost unsure of what he was looking at. “Good. Then trust me to be here for you. Trust me when I tell you that you can beat this.” Steve brushed a loose strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. Bucky gave him a soft smile, hand grabbing Steve’s wrist, thumb rubbing along the inside. They stood there for several minutes, just looking at each other. Each emotionally exposed.

 

It was Bucky that broke the silence. “Ugh. This is a depressing turn of discussion.” He pushed away from the pillar, turning his back to Steve to recollect himself. Steve gave a forced laugh. “I know. The night started with so much promise too.” Ugh. Steve rubbed his face with his hands. It was probably a good time to change the subject. He sat back down at his chair, food forgotten and getting cold. “So… tell me more about Tony. Why is he here?”

 

Bucky collected himself and reclaimed his seat next to Steve. The refrained from touching one another, each trying to pretend some sense of normality.

 

“Tony comes by every so often to see me. He would have been here a couple weeks ago but he got caught up with work.” Bucky and Steve had spent a decent amount of time together the past few weeks but Bucky had never once mentioned that he knew the other man. Hell, to be fair, until tonight neither Bucky nor Steve had said much of anything about their families.

 

Almost on cue, Tony piped up. “Oh! Which reminds me.” Tony was standing by the door, holding a new bottle of wine, expression bright and jittering excitedly like a kid on Christmas. The expression seemed over exuberant. Steve wondered how much of the conversation he had actually witnessed. “I have a new prototype for you to try out. I think I _finally_ got the neural network glitches figured out.”

 

Bucky’s hand reached up towards his left side absentmindedly only to curl in on himself slightly when he grasped at nothing but the air where his left arm should be. A brief shadow crossed Bucky’s face and he shot Tony a dubious look. Yet another topic that Bucky had explicitly avoided in all their conversations was the lack of arm and the additional lack of a prosthetic. There had been an incident last week when Bucky tried to prove to Steve that yes, he did actually know how to cook. No, having a cook his entire life did not mean he was inept. Yet, Steve could see he was struggling trying to do things one handed and any time he tried to help Bucky would just get frustrated.

 

The breaking point had been when Bucky had been trying to mix things in a pan over the stove and the pan kept budging away from him with every stroke. Steve had tried to hold the handle for him but Bucky kept swatting his hand away, determined to do it himself. Eventually, the pan knocked over, food falling over Bucky and the floor. Steve, being an idiot, kept trying to help and assure Bucky that everything was okay. It had been the first time he’d seen Bucky get really angry without James coming out.

 

Across the table, Tony’s face softened a bit, loosing his jittery excitement. “Hey, kid. I promise it’ll be better than last time. You might even be able to play again.” Tony sounded hopeful but Bucky didn’t look like he believed him. Play? Steve wondered. Play what?

 

“No amount of fancy tech is ever going to make that happen again, Tony. We both know that.” Bucky replied bitterly. Steve refrained from the instinct to place a comforting hand on Bucky’s back.

Tony sighed. “You’re never going to know unless you try. You keep rejecting every prosthetic I bring in. I really think you should give this one a shot Jamie. It might not give you everything you want but it’s a start.”

 

Bucky scowled. “I can get along just fine with one arm.”

 

“We know, but you don’t have to.” Steve interjected. Bucky considered him for a moment.

 

“Fine.” Tony looked surprised at the easy answer. He’d probably been expecting a longer fight over this. Taking advantage of the concession he started stammering on about technology, time frames, physical therapy and a slew of things that Steve wasn’t sure was actually English.

 

“I have everything set up in the house if you want to start now.” Tony was moving quickly, clearing the table of food and plates. He must want to move as quickly as possible before Bucky changed his mind.

 

“Yea. Sure. Why not.” Bucky shrugged. He looked carefully aloof, trying to hide his anxiety. Steve frowned. Bucky should really rest.

 

“Awesome.” Tony ran back inside before Steve could interject, arms full of plates muttering to himself about schematics.

 

“Are you sure you're up for this? Do you want me to come in with you guys?” Steve queried. Bucky was trying to hide it but he was emotionally spent. Dealing with the prosthetic couldn’t be good for him right now.

 

“No. No. It’s fine. Besides, it’s a bit of a gross process and my arm doesn’t look too great. You don’t want to watch that.” Bucky tried to wave Steve off, acting like he wasn’t obviously self-conscious at the idea of Steve seeing his arm.

 

Steve frowned. “It’d be fine really. You wouldn’t gross me out.”

 

“You’re sweet Rogers, but I’ll manage.” Bucky smiled falsely. He was closing himself off again. Understandable after the turn the evening took.

 

Steve was surprised when Bucky moved to embrace him. Throwing his arm around the Steve's shoulders, large hand landing on the curve between his neck and shoulder, Bucky leaned in to speak into Steve’s ear. He looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye, not quite turning his head. Bucky’s warm breath tickled his cheek and Steve found himself wanting to lean into the casual embrace. These desires had been a recently occurring development and it really needed to stop.

 

“Thank you… for being here for me. I’m really glad you’re here Stevie. Now…" Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly. "I’m gonna go run and do this thing real quick but there’s something I want to show you when we’re done. Would have done it earlier today but you’d run off. Meet you at your place in a few hours?” Steve’s throat was dry, skin tingling. He didn’t trust himself to speak and simply nodded.

 

“Great!” Bucky’s eyes sparkled in genuine pleasure, erasing the dark look that had been there at the prospect of yet another prosthetic and their earlier discussion. Had his eyes always been that shade of blue? Bucky's hand absentmindedly stroked Steve’s neck before he stood and ran inside after Tony. Steve allowed himself a moment to process before he tried to head back to the guest home.

 

This crush he was developing on Bucky was not good. Never mind that Bucky was technically his boss. Forget even that he’d only known the guy for a few weeks. Bucky didn’t even know his own mind at the moment. Not really. Besides, Steve was only getting part of Bucky right now. It felt somehow wrong for him to be getting attached to a fragment of a man. He wanted to know the whole of him. Yet, despite all of that he meant what he’d said. Bucky was a strong man who was quickly becoming very important to Steve. The prospect of a genuine smile or being responsible for a moment of Bucky being happy and fond the way Tony had made him was something Steve found himself desperate for. He dropped his head into his hands, groaning. He was _so_ screwed. Well.... at least he didn't have to worry about a monotonous schedule anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/3 Seems it will be awhile before the next chapter. Sorry!! I've been overwhelmed with my masters thesis and I'm going out of the country again for a couple weeks. I'll try to write while I'm gone or get something posted before I leave tomorrow.


	6. Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony ponders about the past five years and tries to help Bucky realize his worth.

Most people perceived Tony as a selfish, narcissistic, rich, man who cared little for others beyond what they could do for him. For the most part, this was a rather accurate portrayal. He could count on one hand the number of people and causes he actually cared about. However, in the past five years that number seemed to have grown considerably, almost reaching two hands. All due to the stubborn, reckless kid lying on the bench in front of him that Tony was currently trying to fit a new, state of the art arm for.

 

When he first met Jamie, and that’s the only way he could think of him even if the brat stubbornly insisted on being called Bucky, he had been a bright-eyed charming boy with the world at his feet. His father, Colin Barnes, had been a brilliant geneticist who built his company from the ground up till it grew to prominence. Tony, a young man himself at the time, had been only interested in the next project and the release from boredom that the rest of the world provided. Jamie’s father had sought Tony out for a complex project that Tony can barely remember the details of. Together they collaborated and every so often this irritating child would show up and interrupt asking stupid questions. Tony remembers how Colin would smile fondly and patiently answer all of the kid’s questions, no matter how ridiculous the younger, impatient man Tony was found it.

 

Somewhere over the next several years, Jamie had wormed his way into Tony’s life and proved himself to be bright and clever with a million dreams and a drive Tony was baffled by. After Jamie’s mother and baby sister died in a car accident when he was just fifteen he had lost just a bit of that light but had still found a way not to be broken and remained New York’s darling “prince” and a key center of Tony’s own life.  He may not have been blood, but Jamie was his family.

 

It was Colin who first called the kid Jamie. Even after Colin’s death, while Jamie was off fighting a war, Tony couldn’t imagine calling him anything else. Despite Jamie and his father being at odds by the time of his death, and even though he’d come home with a new name, haunted, with a cloud of anguish hanging over him, Tony could only look at Jamie as the same, charming, clever brat who had somehow wormed his way into Tony’s heart and refused to leave.

 

Tony glanced up from where he was wiring the latest prosthetic to Jamie’s shoulder. Bucky was stock still, flinching every so often when Tony touched a particularly sensitive area. This was the least he could do to try and repay him until he and the others were successful in hunting down Hydra and eliminating them. Hydra. Those insane terrorists. Every time he heard that name Tony’s stomach churned and he flared in anger. Tony had always been an engineer first who loved new complex challenges and had welcomed the role of weapons designer when he inherited Stark Industries from his late father. He’d had no moral qualms about what he built. Not until he saw the effects of those designs and creations on the kid in front of him.   

 

It had been a stupid idea that had been tossed around between Tony and Colin. They had toyed with it but ultimately decided the project too risky and ceased R&D. Together they had successfully developed a series of biochemical serums to make soldiers more compliant to their military superiors. It was supposed to limit deserters and discord in the field. However, the chemical had shown to be unpredictable and some results had been volatile. Tony had never imagined his work would see the light of day until five years ago when Natasha showed up on his front door and informed him of Jamie’s condition and the means by which it had occurred.

 

Tony resisted the urge to throw something at the memory. Tony had never forgiven himself. How could he? Colin and he had loved this kid more than anyone else in the world and together they had created the undoing of Jamie. Tony knew how hurt he was by the few and far appearances Tony had made over the past few years, Tony always making excuses. Yet Tony could barely look his nephew in the eye, knowing his role in the whole thing. He had never found the stomach to tell him and Tony figured Natasha would keep her mouth shut given how close the two of them were. Natasha could be a bitch sometimes but she would never jeopardize what she believed were the few stable relationships in Jamie’s life. Tony was a bit ashamed how grateful he was that his darkest secret would stay buried.

 

Tony wasn’t one hundred percent sure how the project had leaked, or how it had made its way into Hydra’s hands. However, since Nat’s visit five years ago Tony could no longer build weapons. With Pepper’s help, wonderful woman that she is, Tony had been able to redirect his company. It didn’t change what happened, but Tony was damned if anything else he built destroy the lives of anymore of the short list of people he cared about.

 

The prosthetic he was forming to Jamie’s shoulder was only another way he could try to make it up to his nephew. Even if his nephew didn’t know the reason. This new arm had been a love child of his and Bruce, a friend of his that worked for Barnes’ genetics. It was a special metal alloy shaped to fit Bucky’s dimensions perfectly. If he and Bruce had gotten the science right, and who were they kidding, of course they did, the arm should respond to all neural and  mental commands with a similar proficiency as that of his right arm.  

 

“Stop  staring at me Uncle Tony.” Jamie’s voice was gruff and strained. Tony huffed a strangled laugh. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

 

“Sorry kiddo. I was just thinking.” Thinking about how you don’t deserve what I did to you, however indirectly, and what a selfish coward I am. 

 

“Well think about getting this done quicker, yea?” Jamie squirmed uncomfortably.

 

“We’re almost done kid. Just need to test the neural commands. Everything should be attached and ready to go. You ok?” Tony really hoped this all went off without a hitch.

 

“Yea.. the anesthetic seems to be wearing off though. Also…” Jamie hesitated, trying to consider if he wanted to finish his thought. “I just don’t like being strapped down and operated on.  

 

Shit. “Read you loud and clear. Moving it along.” He typed quickly on his tablet, checking all the sequences.  

 

“Want me to distract you?” Tony inquired, searching for a more upbeat topic to distract them both from the darkness in their heads.

 

Jamie  snorted, “Why not?”

 

“Pepper finally agreed to consider, maybe, going to dinner with me.” Tony couldn’t help the smug smile that quirked his lips.  Pepper Potts. An angel who he’d been trying to get to consider even giving him an affectionate glance for years. Since Bucky’s accident he had attempted to turn his life around in several areas, not just his business. The latest reports/ tabloid stories of the women and debauchery were mostly fabrications by the media, but in truth Tony had put all of that behind him when he refocused his company and grew closer to Pepper who had finally seemed to warm up to him. He’d been hoping for this chance for years. Even when he had been a bit of a slut.

 

“Oh yea? She finally decided to slum it?”Jamie jibbed, good-naturedly.

 

“Oi!” Tony resisted the urge to smack him. “Ill have you know I am a very sought after and eligible bachelor.”

 

“Maybe, but your not exactly boyfriend material.” Tony didn’t have any legitimate argument for that. It was true. Yet another thing to add to his list of becoming a better person. However, the reminder still smarted a bit.

 

“You’re not exactly one to talk, ‘mister different boy and girl every month.’ You weren’t exactly a saint.” Tony jibbed absentmindedly, removing the cords that had been linked up to the arm.

 

“I never said I was. Also never claimed to be boyfriend material. One disastrous relationship when I was a teenager was enough for me.”

 

“Oh come on.” Tony wasn’t buying that. “One crap relationship with whats-his-name when you were seventeen  isn’t something to base the whole of your romantic potential on. You’ve always been a better person than me. I don’t see why you can’t have a real relationship. Take it from me. Being a bachelor in your forties, content to sleep around and never commit is not healthy. You should try a little emotional availability.” Tony regretted the comment as soon as it came out. He really needed to stop projecting his own emotional issues on other people.

 

Jamie’s  face went a dark. “Well it’s not exactly an issue these days now is it?. Don’t exactly have suitors pounding down the door. There is no one to really try and make an effort for or be, as you put it, ‘emotionally available.’” His mouth twisted in dark amusement. “Besides,” he added after a moment quietly, “there is no one that would want me now anyway.”

 

Tony cursed inwardly. He was so stupid. He forgot sometimes the little land mines to avoid in conversations with Jamie. A comment like that a few years ago may have led to further good natured ribbing but now it resulted in distress and Jamie withdrawing into himself. Tony had never been good at keeping his mouth shut and was even worse at managing Jamie’s triggers. It was yet another of the many reasons he had not visited often in the past few years.

 

Internally he was screaming and counting the multitude of ways he could skin Hydra alive. This kid didn’t deserve any of what had happened and continued happening to him. What had they done to him to make him think he was worthless? That he wasn’t worth being loved and thus couldn’t be loved?

 

Though…Jamie’s assessment that there was no one for him to make an effort for, or who would want him wasn’t exactly true. Tony considered the encounter he’d overheard at dinner earlier. Rogers seemed to care about him and reached Jamie in a way he’d only seen Natasha manage. Rogers may or may not knowingly care for Jamie, but, from what little he saw, he was clearly quite attached. Furthermore, Jamie was clearly attached to him. Rogers and the others probably couldn’t even tell how much, but Tony had known this kid since he was eating dirt in the playground. He knew what he was like around the boys and girls he actually liked.

 

After the others had left the porch, Tony had watched in amusement as Jamie gave Rogers his tomatoes, claiming to hate them, simply because he knew how much Rogers loved them. Furthermore, when Rogers hadn’t been looking, Tony had noticed the soft, wistful gaze that Jamie had shot the other man. When Rogers was caught up talking about something that got him excited, Tony could see Jamie mentally cataloguing any important information to this man.

There were soft lingering touches as plates and condiments were passed between them. Rogers seemed totally oblivious to the deliberate touches as Jamie would clasp Roger’s shoulder when he said something teasing about him to Tony, letting his hand linger and visibly relishing in the flushed look on Roger’s face every time he was teased. Tony would bet Jamie wasn’t sure what to do with his attachment, so caught up in his own head and belief that he wasn’t worth it. Tony couldn’t have that. He deserved to be happy.

 

“You like him don’t you?” It was an innocent enough question. Gauge how much or little Jamie was aware of his own feelings or willing to admit to them.

 

Tony busied himself with testing the neural responses of the newly attached arm while watching Jamie out of the corner of his eye. Jamie gave an awkward squirm at the question, avoiding Tony’s eye.  

 

“He’s a nice guy.” Jamie  replied, neutrally, expression still darkened by the earlier comments.

 

Tony resisted the urge to snort. “No shit, guy’s so moral and patient he makes an angel look like the devil.”

 

That may have been an exaggeration, but Rogers was certainly the sort that, with one disappointed frown, made you rethink all your life choices. Unless of course you were Tony and found that level of moral relativism obnoxious. Despite his flustering upon first meeting Tony, Rogers, who wasn’t just a pretty face (but damn was it pretty), had quickly gotten over the stardust to go toe to toe with Tony on a debate about the less than reputable things his company had gotten up to in the past and its impact on the current weapons climate. The third degree he had gotten was annoying and frustrating, especially with the reminder of why he had left the business sitting right in front of him. Needing to get away, Tony had had to beg off for another bottle of wine.

 

“He just believes in doing the right thing.” Jamie shifted uncomfortably on the bench, massaging the stretch of scar tissue spread along his left shoulder. His expression softened at the thought of Rogers, but his tone still held an edge of bitterness. “Steve has just gotten it into his head that even though Fury basically kidnapped him, helping me is somehow the morally correct thing to do. So he’s sticking around without a fight till he finds out I can’t get better and gets Fury to let him leave.”

 

“And if you do get better?” Tony stopped his work on the machinery to watch Jamie. He was a pale reflection of the young man he used to be. Once the vibrant, cheeky brat who had boys and girls lining up the street for a chance he might look their way, now he was withdrawn, self-conscious and self-deprecating. True smiles and fleeting moments of real enjoyment were fleeting. Despite everyone’s efforts to help him get better, it was as if part of him had just given up and resigned himself to his perceived fate.

 

“Then he’ll still leave. Why would he stay?” Jamie seemed honestly baffled by the notion that Steve might stick around. Tony had only known the other man for a couple hours, but he wasn’t so sure that was what would happen. Not if the tail end of the conversation he overheard was anything to go by.

 

“For you obviously. Maybe its just me but you two seemed pretty friendly at dinner.”He should probably drop the subject, but Tony refused to let Jamie go on believing he was worthless and unable or unworthy of finding someone.

 

Jamie scoffed. “Right. Cause that’s gonna happen. Just cause we get along doesn’t mean he’s got any interest in sticking around or even, I don’t know, going for coffee, or what ever it is normal people do nowadays, once this is all over.”

 

Tony frowned. It was so obvious that something was going on between those two, yet Jamie kept insisting on pretending otherwise.

 

“Jamie… kid.” He spoke softly, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. This isn’t just some moral mission for him.”

 

“Why are you forcing this Tony?” He snapped. “What the hell does it matter to you if he sticks around? You’ve only known him for a few hours and you didn’t seem to particularly like the guy.” Jamie glared at him. He probably would have already walked out if not for his arm being strapped down to the bench.

 

“I didn’t _not_ like him. He’s just so… nice.” _Also had a lot to say about my company._ “That doesn’t matter anyway, because I saw the way you looked at him. You haven’t looked at anyone like that in years.”

 

“So I looked at him like I didn’t hate him. Call the press. Oh wait, you did.” Jamie snarled, eyes glinting darkly.

 

“Hey now. That one was all Coulson, and I don’t recall Rogers ever mentioning the article so it’s clearly not a priority for him.” Tony returned to testing the neural network. So far, so good in that regard at least.

 

“Every therapist and hail mary Fury has shuffled through here over the years that James hasn’t scared off you’ve pushed away all on your own by being, and I quote “an angry, unresponsive, jackass” and that we’d “have more luck getting actual brick walls to talk” than you.” That was probably going too far Tony considered.

 

“Maybe they should treat their patients like actual people, not experiments.” Jamie glowered.

 

“So you like Steve because he treats you like a person?” He inquired. “It’s got to be more than that otherwise you wouldn’t be foolishly convincing yourself he’s only sticking around to benefit himself in some way like the others were.”

 

He put his tools down. There. The arm was done. A real thing of beauty if you asked him. At least one thing was going right tonight.  

 

Twitching slightly in anxiety, Jamie didn’t answer, not that Tony had really been expecting a straight response. He just needed the kid to recognize he wasn’t alone. His nephew had already shut out everyone else in his life. Tony had never seen him as open with someone in years as he had been with Steve in those few hours. Not even Nat, who was his closest friend in the house. Or Tony for that matter, and they were family.

 

“Look.” Tony felt worn and exhausted. “For whatever reason you trust him. So don’t shut him out just because your scared.” He pleaded softly, squeezing Jamie’s knee slightly.

 

“You realize the irony of you of all people lecturing me on letting people in right? You practically invented avoidance and deflection to avoid getting close to anyone or having any real relationships.”

 

Tony flinched and loosened the straps holding Jamie’s prosthetic arm down. They we’re back to that again. Voice tight with irritation he responded. “I’m gonna let that go kid cause I know this situation is probably confusing for you…”

 

Jamie  jerked his new metal prosthetic out off Tony’s arm, lifting himself off the bench. Well that answers the question of how well it responds. If the situation had been any less tense he’d honestly be considering giving himself a pat on the back for being such a genius.

 

He got in Tony’s face. “Confusing?!” His voice was rough, angry.

 

Shit. Tony hoped he could calm him down before James decided to come out swinging. He was all for field testing new technology, but he’d rather not be the victim of such a test.

 

“You think the last five years of my life is just a ‘confusing situation’? Seriously?”

 

“NO! No. Shit. That’s not what I meant. I just meant this whole thing with Steve must be confusing.”

 

“He’s just a guy. I don’t want to talk about his anymore.”Jamie turned to leave.

 

“If he were “just a guy” why were planning to go see him after we were done here.? Why do you look at him like you used to look at Christoph? That kid you dated in high school?”

 

“Oh for fucks sake Tony.” Jamie threw his arms up in exasperation. Damn that new arm really was something. Focus! Now was not the time to be distracted by new tech. He had a stubborn nephew to calm down and parent.

 

“I’m not interested in Steve.” Jamie continued to protest. “He’s just a _nice guy_.”

 

“Right. Cause you look at all the ‘nice guys’ like that.” Oh for fucks sake Tony. Shut up. You’re supposed to be calming him not beating a dead horse. “ Why are you fighting me on this?”

 

“Because you’re blowing this totally out of proportion. He’s nice, yes. Gorgeous? Absolutely. Just because I like the way he can only eat bread with the crusts cut off like he’s five or the way he scrunches his nose when he’s thinking, or that I like to tease him cause he’s completely adorable when he blushes _does not mean I want him_ Tony!” Jamie shouted, breathing heavily, body twitching in agitation.

 

It was silent for a long moment, both of them staring at each other. Tony thought for a moment about what Jamie said. “Kiddo…” He started, voice calm and coaxing. “I say this as someone whose been distressingly in love with the same woman unrequitedly for years. What you just described to me? I’m afraid it very much does mean you want him, and I _need_ you to understand that you _can have things_ Jamie. You can let him in. _Trust him_.”

 

Jamie crossed his arms over himself protectively. His head was bowed, and shoulders tense. He paced in agitation. Tony watched him from his seat by the bench, heart clenching as he watched the pain his nephew was going through. He hadn’t realized how deep the wound ran. How unloveable Jamie truly saw himself.

When Jamie spoke, his voice was tight, his downcast eyes wet and bright. “It wouldn’t….” Jamie swallowed thickly. “Even if I _did..._ It wouldn’t matter. Uncle Tony... he would _never_ stick around. He would never WANT me.”

 

“Jamie.. Kiddo.” Tony moved to comfort him but Jamie backed away from him. Tony dropped his hands to his side. He could feel his own throat growing tight with emotion.

 

“Kid, I don’t know exactly what happened to you over there,” apart from being abused my my tech Tony thought bitterly, “Or what happened to make you think you were worthless but you’re not. People love you and he can love you too.”

 

“Please… just shut up. I don’t want to talk about this I don't want to feel this..” Jamie sobbed. “I can’t.” He chocked on the word. He swallowed before staring Tony down “Hope is something I cannot afford.”

 

Tony clenched his jaw tightly closed around the word vomit itching to get out. He wasn’t helping. He couldn’t figure out how to make Jamie _see._

Within moments nothing he would have said would have mattered anyway. Tony could only watch in horror as Jamie gave in and his shoulders relaxed and his stance shifted into that of ruthless soldier. Good going there genius.

 

He watched James warily as the soldier relaxed and dropped his arms and tested the new prosthetic with cool detachment. As if it were a new weapon or toy and not a gift meant to help his little nephew.

 

James had never much liked Tony, not that he really liked anyone, but Tony was fairly sure he wouldn’t hurt Tony if only because it would upset Jamie. Didn’t hurt to have an exit strategy though. Tony eyed the exits. There were a couple windows, but those had been barred. The only way out was the door just behind James. He should probably make a break for it just in case James got hostile. Nat was the only one of them any good at calming him down.

 

“You’re very rude Stark. You really should learn to watch what you say. It’s my mission to protect him, even if that’s from you.” James shot him a filthy look.  “Now…this Rogers clearly needs to be dealt with. I find him untrustworthy and he is **_clearly_** a liability to Bucky’s mental and emotional state. I’ll need to see to that right away...” James pondered. “yes. That seems to be only sensible course of action. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get rid of him.” Tony paled at the implication.

 

James  turned and stalked out the door, pausing briefly at the entry way to shoot Tony a pointed glance. “You should be gone soon. I’d rather not have to take care of you too. Oh,”James added in afterthought, lips twisted in a cold smile. “Thanks for the arm. Works great.” And with that he disappeared from view. Tony threw the wrench in his hand against the wall. Shit. He let out a frustrated groan hands running through his hair.

 

Taking several deep breaths he rummaged through his pockets. Finally locating his phone, he punched in the familiar number and prayed the other man would answer the phone. _Come on… Come on…_ The line kept ringing, finally clicking over to voice mail. Tony’s stomach clenched and his heart sank.

 

“We have a Code White situation. I’m currently viewed as a hostile so I can’t interfere without hurting Jamie. You guys need to get back here _now.”_ Tony clicked the end call button and slumped onto the floor. Just another thing to add to his list of epic fuck ups. He could only pray Fury checked his phone soon and that their Hydra mission hadn’t turned into a total clusterfuck. He got the funny feeling that if they lost Steve they would loose Jamie and Tony would loose one of the only people that mattered to him and Tony would have no one and nothing to blame but himself.


	7. Nothing is Ever So Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wants Rogers gone. It should have been a simple task, but he didn’t count on how stubborn the other man would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the first fight scenes I’ve ever written so please go easy on me. 
> 
> Also, I should probably have said this ages ago but I am not an expert on DID. Use of it in this story is with artistic license and partly based on what little research I’ve done and personal accounts I’ve read.

_He ran as fast as his asthmatic lungs would let him, dodging out of sight into a small, dank alley. It was a tight squeeze into the alley, but his small, bony frame fit almost comfortably. If he could just get through this short cut unnoticed he’d be back at the loft in time to warn them. He had to warn them! His lungs burned and seized as he pushed through the alley and out the other side. There was no time to pause and the ladder was only meters ahead of him. What he lacked in lungs, he made up for in sure footing, climbing quickly. Tumbling into the opened window on the third floor, he took the moment to breathe heavily on the floor, hands patting himself down for his inhaler. A sigh of relief escaped him as his hands wrapped around the object and brought it up to his lips and breathed in the medication. He welcomed the feeling of air in his lungs. The moment was quickly broken by a sharp cry and the feeling of a muzzle being pressed against the back of his head._

Steve jerked awake from where he’d been curled up on the sofa, book fluttering to the floor. Breathing heavily, he glanced around frantically but could make out nothing amiss. He strained his ears but could hear nothing out of the ordinary. It was just the dream setting his nerves on edge. Collapsing into the cushion, his mouth twisted into a frown. He hadn’t had that dream in almost a year. Steve had put the memory of it and the life associated with it out of his mind, but the discussion with Bucky at dinner and Fury’s constant jabs of calling him ‘Cap’ must have brought old ghosts to life.

 

Speaking of… A quick glance at the ornate clock on the mantle told him it was nearly one am. New worries seized him. Bucky gave the impression he would be over hours ago. Had he fallen asleep and missed him? Or had something gone wrong? Steve’s stomach clenched at the thought. Perhaps he should go looking for him? Steve considered the idea but ultimately decided against it. If Bucky hadn’t shown up he must have had a reason, and if something _had_ happened then, well, he was with Tony. Tony would probably be able to handle a James crisis better than him. Steve didn’t think too hard about the bitterness he felt at the thought.

 

In any event, his neck and back were knotted and kinked from how he’d been curled on the couch. If he wasn’t going to track down Buck then he might as well get a decent night’s sleep and hope to see him on their usual morning run. Grabbing the book off the floor, Steve made his way up the dimly lit stairs and passed several doors heading towards his room. Funny, Steve considered – mind still not fully awake, he’d thought the lights had been off. Must of forgotten one or two. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

 

He paused for a brief second as he passed the study, noting that the door was slightly agar, and considered whether or not to drop off the book. Opting to keep it on him, he instead pushed open the door to his room, not bothering to turn on the lights. Steve quickly stripped down to his boxers, throwing clothes absentmindedly towards the chairs in front of the fireplace. He’d deal with laundry tomorrow. For now, sleep was calling to him.

 

Suddenly, cool metal gripped his shoulder and shoved him against the wardrobe.

 

“You know it’s not polite to throw things at other people.” The voice was deep and cold tone familiar.

 

The last vestiges of exhaustion fled as he flipped the switch, bathing the room in light.

 

Steve groaned inwardly. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this James.” So something had happened after all. James’ appearance in his room was strange, however. Apart from neither James nor Bucky having been in Steve’s room while he’d lived there, James had seemed content not to deal with Steve at all.

 

James was eyeing him darkly a few inches away. Steve’s eyes were drawn to the metal prosthetic. It looked state of the art and seemed to twitch and move with the same tense agitation as James’ right arm. Tony really was brilliant, Steve considered absently.

 

“And you appear to be pathetically unaware of your surroundings.”

 

The punch came fast with a looping swing at the side of Steve’s head. He ducked quickly, the punch landing on the wardrobe behind him with a loud crunch.

 

“What the hell?!” Steve jerkily looked between the other man and the wardrobe behind him. In his distraction he was too late to avoid the knee to his gut. Pain radiated, as Steve collapsed to the floor, clutching his abdomen. James was fast, and much stronger than he looked.

 

It was only on reflex that he caught James’ leg before it could make contact with Steve’s ribs. He shoved the leg back, pushing himself onto his feet and ducking out of close range of James’ attacks. He was aware the other man wasn’t fond of him, but this was something else.

 

It had been too long since Steve had been in a fight, but he’d always been good at evasion when faced with a much stronger and skilled opponent. Having been a small, scrawny teen, necessity had demanded that particular skill. He blocked each punch and kick, dodging what blows he could and refusing to give ground and back himself into a corner. Block. Shove away. Back off. He needed to think.

 

“I don’t wanna fight, James.” Steve pleaded with the other man. He was met with silence and a dark, blank stare, mouth curled into an irritated scowl at Steve’s evasion.

 

Steve ducked away from a right jab; only to realize it was a feint when metal hit his chin, cranking his head sharply to the side. Plain flared and his vision blurred. He ducked and rolled over his shoulder to crouch behind the side of the bed. He needed a minute to think. Avoidance wouldn’t work forever and he needed to go on the offensive or else this fight would be over soon and at that moment Steve wasn’t sure James would stop short of killing him.

 

Take a brief second to collect himself, he ran at the other man, catching him off guard and managing to land a jab to James’ jaw. _Bucky’s jaw,_ Steve reminded himself. Hurting James meant hurting Bucky, but he couldn’t sit idle. Oh where was a panic button when you needed one.

 

James tumbled back in surprise and Steve took the opportunity to knee him in the stomach. Maybe he could manage to subdue him long enough to make a run for it and look for Clint.

 

James snarled and threw a punch with his metal arm, which Steve only barely managed to block. _Thank God._ Another punch to his jaw with that arm and his jaw would probably crack.  He swiped at James’ legs, the two of them tumbling to the ground.

 

Wrestling on the ground, Steve tried to keep himself from getting pinned.

 

“James. Listen to me. What is going on? You don’t need to do this.”

 

James growled underneath him, cerulean blue eyes dark and flinty. “You’re my mission Rogers. You are to be dealt with.”

 

Of course he was. _Sorry Buck, I’ll make this up to you._ He took a cheap shot to James’ groinand tried to push himself off and make a run for it while James was in pain, but his arms were quickly kicked out from under him, and James pinned him to the floor.

 

James barrage of attacks momentarily ceased and Steve was suddenly and inopportunely conscious of his state of undress with the other man pressed against him in a thin shirt and jeans. He tried to tell his body that it wasn’t Bucky driving at the moment, but that didn’t seem to count for much. 

 

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “You’re my mission.” James’ breath tickled his cheek, but the flinty glare only intensified.

 

“You keep saying that.” Steve huffed, trying to keep his mind on the current danger and away from the proximity of the lithe body pinning him down. His body was screaming in other ways too. He’d caught one to many hits. This couldn’t go on much longer.

 

“Wanna tell me what the hell that means? And what the hell happened to Buck?”

 

“Bucky is no longer your concern.” James’ left grip on Steve’s forearm tightened. “He became distressed. I’m here with a new mission parameter to remedy the reason behind his distress.”

 

“What happened?” Steve inquired, worried. He knew Bucky was in a rough state when he left earlier that night. “I know I might have overstepped a little at dinner but don’t you think this a tad overkill?” He tried to keep as much sarcasm out of his voice as he could. Best not to unnecessarily antagonize the beast. 

 

James paused and tilted his head slightly, seeming to consider whether or not to answer the question or if he should finish his ‘mission’.

 

“There was an … an _incident.”_

 

“Okay… What _kind_ of incident?” Good. Keep him talking. He squirmed, feeling out how much freedom of movement he had in his legs and hips.

 

“Stark poked his nose in matters it had no right to. Yet his callous inquiries have shown a light on the most prominent concern to Bucky’s current emotional state. As his protector it is my mission to eliminate such concerns.”

 

He means me. I’m negatively affecting Buck’s emotional state. Steve’s stomach clenched uncomfortably at the possibility that he was making the other man’s condition worse. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. However, it made sense then, the sudden attack. James, if nothing else, was a staunch protector of Bucky. Unfortunately, he only seemed to know how to protect him through violence.

 

“What do you want from me?” Steve inquired. His arm was tightly grasped in the new prosthetic and with the way James had pinned him he wasn’t getting his left leg free any time soon. His only shot was to talk his way out of this or hope one of the others came for him. If he were inferring the situation right, Tony would’ve been the last one to see James. Maybe he’d find them…

 

“I want you to leave. One way or another. Bucky would rather I let you go with your life, yet I would rather be done with you now.” James released Steve’s left arm to wrap his hand around his throat lightly, clenching both of Steve’s arm in the tight grip of his metal prosthetic.

 

“Yet.” James mused, eyes glaring slightly at the hand still wrapped loose around Steve’s throat. “I would prefer to avoid any unnecessary conflict between myself and Bucky. So,” James flit his gaze up to meet Steve’s. “Due to Bucky’s irrational and ridiculous affection for you, I may be inclined to let you walk out of here, tonight. If you refuse,” James tightened his grip around Steve’s throat, “well, I can’t say I didn’t try to be reasonable.”

 

Steve swallowed thickly, body trembling slightly in fear. “Any way I could interest you in a door number three?”

 

James scowled, baring his teeth at Steve. “I don’t believe you understand how this works. You have no negotiating power.”

 

“Yea, well. I think I do.” Not much of it but hopefully enough.

 

“Oh really? Please, enlighten me.” The grip on Steve’s neck didn’t ease, making it hard to swallow and his words choked and breathy.

 

“For whatever reason you don’t like me. Fine. Bucky however is my friend, and I like to think the others would miss me. Killing me would only alienate all of them further. Bucky would hate you.”

 

“It would be for his benefit. I can handle that.” James dismissed the argument.

 

Right then. Scratch that angle. “Maybe so, but you all seem so head bent on getting him better. You really think killing me is going to help him get better? Not to mention, if I go missing you’re little sanctuary is going to be turned upside down. Due to the contract’s arrangement it might take a few weeks but they will come searching for me. When they do, and they find out what you are? What is to stop a slew of psychologists from coming in and playing with your head? I doubt the others would stop them. And we all know how much you love people in your head.” Steve narrowed his eyes, trying to appear like he wasn’t terrified and practically begging for his life.

 

Steve was thus surprised when James let out what, for him, was an amused chuckle.

 

“You’ve got balls. Fine. I won’t kill you.” James retracted his hand from Steve’s throat and released his arms to sit back on Steve’s legs, keeping him partially pinned down.

 

Steve rubbed his throat, eyeing James warily.

 

“I still want you to leave.” James told him dismissively.

 

“No.” Steve wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated. “Not unless I believe it to honestly be in Bucky’s best interest.” Steve had made Bucky a promise to be by his side till he got better. He intended to keep that promise.

 

“Oh it is, Rogers. Believe me.”

 

“Then convince me. Otherwise I’m not leaving and you can just fuck right off. I’m tired of being manhandled by you.”

 

James chuckled that dark amused chuckle. “Of course you are, Rogers. Though, I admit you’ve got more balls than I expected from an opportunistic, scavenging, journalist.”

 

No longer completely pinned down, and without the threat of violence hanging over their encounter, Steve found himself irritated and angry. He respected James’ need to protect Bucky, but he wasn’t the enemy. James had yet to give any real evidence that he was.

 

“I’m a journalist by trade, yes. However, I have no wish, nor have I ever given the indication of such a wish, to exploit anyone.” To be fair he was probably one of the few journalists he knew with that sort of integrity.

 

“I was hired by Fury to write about Bucky’s time in Iraq, and by extension yours. Coulson thought it would help him remember and come to terms with his memories. Yet, he doesn’t remember anything so really my job is null and void unless you let him remember.” Which was something Steve had been hoping to discuss under less aggressive conditions weeks ago.

 

“Ah.” James seemed oddly pleased with Steve’s statement. “Then it is of no matter your… _relationship_ with Bucky. You will be unable to complete your job in any event so there is no point in you staying.”

 

What? The hell was that supposed to mean? Steve rose to his elbows sharply, ignoring the wince in his ribs where James had gotten a couple shots in. James was, for whatever reason, still keeping his lower half pinned down.

 

“I suppose,” James mused to himself, ignoring Steve “addressing that caveat might have been a more subtle manner of securing your leave. I’ll have to consider that option next time. Though physically removing an unwanted guest is just so much simpler.”

 

“What do you mean? Why would you say that? It sounds like you believe Bucky will never remember anything which doesn’t make sense because that’s all the lot of you seem to…. care about…” Oh… _of course._ Steve watched the cold smirk playing on James’ face. In many ways it was the same quirk of the lip as Bucky’s but James’ held malice and darkness where Bucky’s was mischievous with just a hint of bitterness.

 

“You don’t _want_ him to remember, do you?” Steve inquired softly.

 

“I’m impressed. The others haven’t even guessed at such in the past five years, yet you manage to figure it out within a few weeks. Bucky and I can communicate but I’ve been careful to keep this desire from him. Even now, I’m suppressing him for this conversation. His innocence needs to be protected. Letting him gain my memories and have his own return to him would be counter-productive to my primary mission to protect him.”

 

Steve bristled in anger and tried to resist the urge to punch James. Now that he wasn’t defending himself from a physical onslaught he wished to try and refrain from harming Bucky’s body any further.

 

“He’s falling _apart_ without those memories.” Steve seethed at the other man.

 

James glared and bit out, “He’s falling apart with what little he has. Tonight’s incident would not have occurred if that were not the case. Why would I submit him to further horrors? I _appreciate_ that all of you only care about Bucky’s welfare, as it is my duty as well, but you all seem to forget that it was ME that lived through those horrors to keep his innocence safe. I’m very aware of what I’m keeping from him.”

 

Steve flinched. James had a point. He, at least, had tended to write James off as a violent protector incapable of anything but his ‘mission’. Incapable of being reasoned with or of having any sort of life or desires of his own beyond being an alter of Bucky, violent and unyielding. Until now, with James blatantly stating it, Steve was ashamed to admit he hadn’t thought of this alter as having a life, memories, or having suffered as much or more so than Bucky. Steve was beginning to realize that just maybe James wasn’t a parasite or a beast. That would be to simple. James and Bucky were alters, yes, but they were both full, integral parts of what made up James Buchannan Barnes, POW, former ‘Prince of New York’, and a brilliant, strong man Steve cared a great deal about. There was no ‘one or the other’ and there should not be a ‘me’ or ‘not me’.

 

It felt like an epiphany, but one James didn’t seem to be aware of. How had nobody realized this yet? With all of the therapists that have come through over the years someone should have realized this or pointed it out. Though, Steve got the impression none of the therapists had been around long enough to broach the idea in any real capacity. Coulson had mentioned the other day that the only ones that had been around for any length of time had been in the first few years when they’d been more focused on any triggers in Bucky’s head than dealing with the appearance of DID. Their idea to get him to help Bucky write out his story really had been a stupid one. An idea borne of total ignorance of what they were really dealing with.

 

“Bucky is not strong enough to cope.” James continued, ignorant of Steve’s new epiphany. “He would lash out and you and the others would flee from him. You specifically hold power I don’t understand over him which would be to his detriment when you inevitably leave, unable to cope with his demons. You should leave now before he gets in to deep with you.”

 

“No.” Steve responded, resolve stronger than ever with his new perspective.

 

James looked like he wanted to punch him. “No?” He asked slowly. “You should be aware that I am rethinking the decision not to kill you.”

 

Steve couldn’t bring himself to rise to the bait. “No, James. I’m not leaving. I promised Bucky I would help him, but I’m starting to realize that maybe that should extend to you as well.”

 

James looked at him like he’d lost his mind, eyes flinty and cold, scowl deepening. “You have no self preservation do you? I’ve tried to kill you, twice now, and you are putting that aside to ‘help me’. I don’t _need_ your _help._ ” He hissed out, pushing himself of Steve jerkily and moving to leave the room. He stopped short and turned back to Steve, who had taken the opportunity to move from his spot on the floor, and was finally putting on a shirt, mindful of his sore ribs as he raised his arms.

 

It was the most agitated he’d ever seen the other man. He was practically spitting at him, saying “I don’t know why Fury brought you here.” Well that was a change of topic. “ _Clearly_ he thinks more of your morality than I do. Just what secrets lie buried in your past I wonder.” He sneered. Steve didn’t respond. His secrets were long buried and should stay that way. “Bucky is clearly too blinded by his affection for you to wonder about these things. I don’t have that handicap. Hiring a journalist was a farce. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. You don’t strike me as _stupid_. Yet, you continue to insist on ‘helping.’” Steve could practically visualize the air quotes.

 

James breathed deeply, posture tense and ready to pounce, with arms that continued to twitch, revealing his agitation. Beneath the cold, flinty glare was something else. Something Steve didn’t know how to describe. Now that Steve was looking for it, he could see the nuances of this alter beyond the vicious killer/protector persona he put on for everyone. Just how much of that was real? How much more was there to James? Steve suddenly found himself desiring to find out. If James ever decided he would stop trying to kill him, that is. Good God. Steve needed his own therapist.

 

“You can’t _help him_. You certainly have no grounds to insist you can ‘help me’.”

 

Steve shrugged. He was tired and in pain. “Have you ever considered that maybe you’re in just as much pain as he is? That you need just as much protection? I’m no psychologist, and this is probably a stupid thing to propose. If you let him remember, maybe the two of you can stop acting like your not both two sides of the same person. Maybe you can accept each other and give up this split you two have that says he’s ‘not me’.”

 

“He’s _innocent.”_ James hissed. “He doesn’t need to know what he did, nor what I did to keep that innocence.”

 

What? “I thought…” Steve paused in his slow walk toward James, confused. “I thought you were just blocking the memories of torture and abuse. The memories associated with his everyday triggers. What exactly did you two do?”

 

James shut his eyes tight, lips twitched in anger and muttering to himself in Russian. He obviously hadn’t meant to let that bit slip.

 

“James…” Steve made an aborted movement towards James, who sidestepped his outstretched hand. Their roles had seemed to completely reverse. No longer on the physical offensive, James was now on the emotional defensive. It was a sight Steve didn’t know what to do with.

 

“Look,” Steve sighed. “I get you don’t trust me. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Yet, you should know that I made a promise to stay by Bucky’s side through this. I’m now extending that promise to you, whether you want me there or not. I’m stubborn like that. To the end of the line I’ll be there. Nothing you tell me or do to me is going to send me running to the hills.”

 

James let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “You just keep coming back for more don’t you? Maybe you should be the one in therapy.”

 

Steve gave a startled laugh, “It’s entirely possible.”

 

“It’s my mission to protect him.” He repeated the phrase like it was lifeline, staring defiantly over Steve’s shoulder, refusing to consider Steve’s claims.

 

Steve approached James cautiously. “I don’t know what you two went through so I may be speaking out of turn.” He placed his hands tentatively on either side of James’ face and turned it towards him to look him in the eye, surprised and grateful when James didn’t push him off. “Just listen to me, okay. There may have been a time where keeping the memories from Bucky _was_ protecting him. Now… it’s just hurting him. _Protecting him?_ That would be letting him remember and helping him through the memories so he can leave this prison you have all created for yourselves. It would mean learning to function together rather than pushing each other down and fighting each other. You need help just as much as he does. You say he’s the innocence and so you’re happy to take on the role of a moral lacking protector. Neither of you are so simply categorized.”

 

James gazed at Steve curiously. That something in his eyes he couldn’t name becoming more pronounced.

 

“I don’t trust you.” James started. Steve wanted to cry in frustration, but he stood his ground. “Yet,” James continued, “I concede you _might_ have a point.” He fell silent again, considering his next words. “Very well. I’ll let him remember. Everything. I’ll open up communication with him and stop pushing him down.” Steve sighed in relief. He dropped his hands to James’ tense shoulders.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me, Rogers. Be aware that this situation is going to get worse. If he can’t handle it, or if you run because _you_ can’t handle it …” James’ new metal hand wrapped around the nape of Steve’s neck harshly, similar to yet so different from the way Bucky had clasped his neck just hours before. “I will not only _strip him_ of those memories and he and I will find ourselves back in the same position we are now, I will also _strip you_ limb from limb for running away like a _coward._ ” The grip tightened. Steve tried not to flinch at the grip. He was probably going to have a bruise from the metal in the morning. Just another to add to the litany he had procured during their fight.

 

“I have no intention of running away. No matter how bad it gets. Like I told you earlier. I’m with you two, till the end of the line.” Steve meant it too. He probably did need a therapist. Or at least someone to explain why he was so keen to keep helping someone who’d repeatedly tried to kill him. His mother, rest her soul, had always told him he was unnaturally empathetic and would find good in the devil. He was fairly confident James wasn’t the devil. Just a fragment of a broken man who was as lost as the rest of them.

 

James’ grip softened to a point where it was almost friendly, if not for the cool, calculating glint in his eyes, or the set of his shoulders. “We’ll see Rogers. I may yet understand what it is Bucky sees in you.” With that, he pushed Steve away and left the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/31 Hey guys! Just a quick note. I won't be able to update till at least August 14. That's when my masters thesis is due so I'm kinda in crunch mode at the moment and putting this on the back burner. Till then! <3


	8. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which absolutely no one seems to be having a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is focused more on everyone else, but we will get to James and Bucky next chapter. I promise!

Tony raced through the house, ducking into every room he thought he might be able to find Clint. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fury wasn’t answering his phone, and neither were the others. Clint was his only shot right now for dealing with James; if he could just find the other man. Throwing open another door, just to find it empty, Tony let out a yell of frustration. Come on… Think Tony. If you were a moody ex-assassin turned agent whose boyfriend ran off to fight without you, where would you go? It took several more minutes than Tony was proud of for it to click. The roof! Feathers had always preferred to think in high places.

 

Tony switched directions and made for the winding staircase that fed out onto the wrap around balcony. The night air was crisp and cold, and Tony shivered in his thin shirt. Peering onto the roof, he could just make out Clint who was perched precariously on the edge of the roof.  

 

“Hey! Barton!” He shouted at Clint, but the other man didn’t acknowledge that he had heard him. Damnit. He must of turned off, or taken out, his hearing aid. Tony searched frantically for something he could throw as a way to get his attention, but his aim was shit. He would just have to climb up on the roof. He felt his pounding pulse in his throat, anxiety eating away at him. He tried to calm himself. Climbing onto the roof in this state wouldn’t do anyone any favors.

 

Breathe in, breath out.

 

Focusing himself, he leaped onto the hanging vines, climbing blindly in the dark. Thorns and branches dug into him uncomfortably as he pulled himself up, searching for decent footing. Muscles straining, it was hard to see where his makeshift ladder ended and the rooftop started from this position, so Tony had to just keep climbing. It couldn’t be too much further.

 

His hand finally brushed against the rooftop several minutes later. Eager to be done, Tony hurriedly tried to pull himself onto the roof, only for his foot to get caught in one of the vines and jerk him back down. He could feel his hands slipping and the image of falling onto the glass table on the balcony below him raced through his mind. Tony barely registered the vine snapping under his hands as he started to topple backwards. He fumbled frantically to try and regain his grip and footing, but any sense of anchor kept eluding him.

 

Just as he resigned himself to the fall, a firm grip grasped him by the front of his shirt. His body jerked mid-fall. The firm grip, which must belong to Clint, pulled him back towards the building, allowing Tony to get a renewed grip on the vines and pull himself up with Clint’s help. Rolling onto the roof, Tony splayed out on his back, breathing heavily. That was nearly a disaster. In the dark, he could just make out Clint’s worried gaze as he crouched over Tony, fiddling with his ear.

 

“What the hell, Tony?!”

 

“Code… White… James is… after Steve.” Tony informed him, through heavy breaths.

 

“Oh, Fuck me.” Clint cursed, running across the roof, grabbing something along the way. Tony rolled over to look at Clint, who was perched on the other side of the roof, facing the direction of the guest house, and changing out the cartridges on…. seriously? A sniper rifle?

 

“Do you just pull that thing out of your ass?” Tony questioned, incredulous.

 

It was one in the morning and the guy was hanging out on the rooftop with a sniper rifle. Who does that?

 

“Piss off Stark.” Clint bit back, lining up the scope.

 

“I’m not sure what I’m more worried about. Just the fact that you ran off with a bottle of my best wine to drink and ended up on the roof, or that you’re hanging out with a semi-automatic weapon. On a roof. After you’ve been drinking.”

 

“It’s none of your business Stark, now stop distracting me.” Clint didn’t even bother to look at him.

 

Tony shook his head and rolled over towards Clint.

 

“Can you at least tell me if you see anything?” Tony wasn’t sure what answer he was hoping for.

 

“Nothing much. I see movement downstairs… The lights are off upstairs so I can’t see anything…. Damnit.” Clint swayed slightly, loosing his stance for a moment. Tony frowned, and looked the other man over cautiously as he moved to crouch next to him.

 

“Are you _wasted?!”_ Tony hissed. Even with just the moonlight and house lights to illuminate, the slightly glazed look in Clint’s eyes was obvious, as was the smell of hard liquor wafting from him with every breath. Clint was his best shot…. And he was drunk.

 

“Oh no. You are NOT aiming a gun at my nephew. You’ll just end up killing him.” Tony dived for the gun, but Clint, even drunk was quick enough to grab Tony’s wrists and shove him away.

 

“I could be drunk and blindfolded and still do my job.” Clint snapped back. “He’s my _best friend_. I wouldn’t risk killing him. Besides…” Clint readjusted the rifle. “There are only tranquilizers in the cartridges.” He refocused his gaze on the house.

 

“That really doesn’t make me feel any better.” Tony snapped.

 

Clint opened his mouth to retort, but they both froze at the splay of light that just came on in one of the upstairs rooms.

 

“It’s James and Steve.” Clint reported, lining up a shot.

 

Tony’s stomach rolled over. “What’s happening?”

 

“James is going after him…. Oh for goodness sakes.” Clint jerked back, face incredulous.

 

“What?!” Tony asked, panicked.

 

“He’s not wearing any clothes. Well,” Clint amended. “He’s wearing boxers, but seriously. That’s hardly fighting attire. I figured Buck and Steve had this weird mating dance going on but come on…”

 

“Clint!” Tony interrupted. “I don’t care what he’s wearing. I’d much rather like to know if James is trying to _kill him._ So if you would _focus.”_

 

Clint muttered something under his breath as he re lined up his shot.

 

“James isn’t playing around but… huh… Steve actually seems to be holding his own….” Well, Tony thought, that was something. At least the kid’s over abundance of muscle was actually good for something.

 

“Can you get a shot?” Tony hated to ask this, wanting to avoid any sort of incident that might put his nephew in danger. His stomach clenched unpleasantly at the very thought, but what options did they have?

 

“No. Fuck.” Clint adjusted the scope. “James just pinned him to the floor, so his back is to me, but the shot is blocked by the bed.”

 

Tony cursed, and started pacing. He dug his phone back out of his pocket. Lucky that it didn’t fall out when he tried his acrobatic climbing. He punched in the number to Fury that he’d been trying all night, but just like it had all night the call simply rung out. Tony felt so useless. For all his intelligence and engineering ability, what use was he in this mess? Master assassins, soldiers and spies surrounded him. Hell, even the journalist could hold his own. Tony hated the feeling that he had to run and let someone else fight his battles, but he was no soldier. He was an engineer and ex-weapons designer. Yet, what good did that do him now? How was he supposed to fight back?

 

“Tony!” Clint’s shout broke through his thoughts.

 

“What is it?” Tony reclaimed his perch next to the sniper, pushing down his anxiety and fears.

 

“I’m not sure, yet. James started walking out and now he’s yelling at Steve, who _finally_ put on a shirt. I mean, the guy is hot, but not when you’re fighting, am I right?… Who…” Clint frowned, “Does this guy have a death wish? I like the guy but…”

 

“Clint.” Tony bit out, frustrated. The annoying thing about a drunk Clint was a chatty Clint.

 

“Right. Sorry. I have a shot, but I’m not sure we need it. Steve is… get this… _holding his face,_ and James isn’t flipping out.” Tony wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or confused. He opted for relief.  Maybe they would get through this alright after all.

 

“Whatever fighting was going on seems to be over. James is heading out now…” Clint leaned away from the rifle, and they both peered over the side of the roof at the lone figure walking back towards the main house.

 

“Huh. I guess.. Crisis averted?”

 

“Yea.” Clint agreed. “I’m not really upset about it, but to be honest that was a bit anti climactic.”

 

Tony had to agree. He’d been expecting a slightly more violent ending.

 

“Rogers is a surprising one.” Clint said dismissively. “Bringing him in might not have been a terrible idea.” Clint said, packing up his rifle with shaky hands. “But someone needs to teach that guy to fight, that could have easily gone south.”

 

“No more so than a drunk sniper making a bad shot.” It was probably a cheap shot, but now that the dust had settled, Tony’s inward anger and anxiety had nowhere to go and Clint’s drunkenness was rankling.

 

“Look…” Clint started, swaying slightly as he stalked up to Tony, gun discarded.

 

“No.” Tony was overwhelmed by the anxiety and fear of the night. He welcomed the fight. It might not be fair to direct everything he was feeling at Clint – who probably didn’t deserve whatever he was about to say – but Tony had never been fair. He brought himself up to his full height and stared the other man down. Clint smelled like a liquor store.

 

“I don’t give a rats ass about your domestic squabble with Coulson.” Clint flinched, bright blue eyes squeezing shut. “Or that you think you’re so Goddamn talented that you can pull off a job wasted. That is my _nephew_ you had a fucking gun pointed at.”

 

Clint bristled, eyes snapping open to narrow dangerously. “He’s my….”

 

“Best friend.” Tony cut in, mockingly. “Yes, I know. But you know what feathers? I. Don’t. Care.” Tony glowered at him. “Its lucky there were only tranqs in that gun or else if this _had_ gotten violent, you’re precious accuracy might not have meant much to him.”

 

“You’re completely overreacting Stark.” Clint shot back. Yet, underneath his outward irritation, Tony saw the glimmer of fear in his eyes. Tony pounced on it.

 

“Over what exactly? My nephew just told me he thinks he’s worthless, he nearly killed Steve, and you could have killed him because you can’t be a _fucking adult_ about the fact that Coulson went on a mission without you. Grow _up_ Barton.” Tony’s voice rose steadily till he was shouting in Barton’s face.

 

“Don’t… Don’t talk about him.” Clint growled lowly, the look of fear in his eyes replaced with anger, normally smirking mouth twisted in a scowl “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I know you’re a drunk mess over it. Which, normally I support drowning your problems in alcohol, but not in these circumstances.”

 

“How the hell was I supposed to know James would go postal!” Clint shouted, shoving Tony back. This was the fight Tony was looking for. “You didn’t exactly fight me about the tranqs when you thought James was gonna kill him. So maybe whatever this…” Clint gestured up and down “bullshit you’ve got going on, you can leave me and Phil the hell out of it. I made a call. No one would’ve gotten hurt. So back. Off.” Clint shoved him again.

 

Tony huffed, straightening out his shirt. “You’re really something Barton. Maybe if you weren’t a shitty agent who made shitty calls, Coulson would trust you to have his back.”

 

He welcomed the punch. The sharp flare of pain where the fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, precariously close to the edge of the roof.

 

Barton’s eyes were wet and furious. He didn’t bother to retort, instead grabbing Tony by his shirt and pulling him back towards the center of the roof so he could stalk off and make his way down the vines.

 

With Clint out of sight, the anger drained from Tony and he collapsed onto the roof. He’d gone too far that time. Just one more to add to the list of relationships he’d fucked up. His nephew was a mess because of him, and Tony couldn’t even be around to help cause Tony was too chicken shit to own up to what he did. Not to mention he was just useless in a crisis and couldn’t handle James or Hydra. He was just a useless mess that damaged everything he touched.

Tony let himself wallow in self-pity till the windy chill sunk deep into his bones, forcing him to retreat back inside. Normally this is when he would get blistering drunk and do something even more stupid. Yet… what would that fix? He spent his life running from his problems, but this was one he couldn’t keep running from. Tony had never been brave, but maybe he should try just this once.  

 

* * *

 

The mission hadn’t quite gone to plan. Fury scowled darkly as he made his way through the east wing of the estate, towards the emergency medical room. Coulson trailed behind him, carrying Natasha bridal style. They both looked like hell. Their mission had gone south only minutes into what was supposed to be a standard retrieval mission. The base they had gone out to investigate was supposed to be abandoned. Just a bunch of old files hanging around that were supposed to shine some light on what Hydra wanted with the Winter Soldier Program. Well. That intel had been bullshit. They had walked straight into a trap. Fury would have to follow up with his new source to make sure he hadn’t been double-crossed. It was things like this that gave him trust issues.

 

“How she doin’?” Fury spared a glance at Natasha’s sedated form. Her shoulder was wrapped in a hasty bandage that was soaked in blood. She moaned at every jostle. Getting out of that place had been a bitch, and she’d taken the brunt of a nasty shock wave on top of a bullet to the shoulder.

 

“She’ll live.” Coulson’s voice was firm and calm, despite the worry in his eyes. It was something Fury appreciated about Coulson, his ability to remain cool in a crisis.

 

Fury nodded and kept walking. The medical room was just down at the end of this hall.

 

Upon reaching the unobtrusive door, Fury pulled the ratty keycard out of his ripped coat. He’d have to get rid of it. It had been his favorite coat too. Fucking Hydra.

 

The door slid open, revealing the crisp, clean room. Early on, they had realized the necessity of having such a room in the estate. It would ask too many questions if they kept showing up at the hospital, and Banner was always a phone call away if they needed a doctor. There was no time for that now. They would have to handle their injuries themselves.

 

Fury shed his coat on the chair against the wall and gathered supplies while Coulson arranged Natasha carefully on the operating table. The hasty bandage on her shoulder was getting darker by the second, while her skin was getting paler. They needed to hook up a transfusion, fast.

 

“Coulson.” Fury didn’t even need to finish the order. Coulson was already sterilizing his hands and gathering the necessary tubes, needles and blood bags they kept on hand. Fury tried not to think to hard on the ease in which they performed these processes now. Or how many times one of them had been on this table near death because of Hydra. No. Now wasn’t the time to dwell. There were more important things to do.

 

Fury sterilized his hands quickly and cut through the soaked bandage and shirt while Coulson set up the transfusion. She’d opted out of her customary thick, leather tactical suit for the mission. Ripping the shirt open, he got a first good look at the bullet wound on her right shoulder and the dark purple at her left side where she hit the wall. Please just be a cracked rib, Fury prayed. They weren’t equipped to deal with internal bleeding. He pressed gently at the bruised area. Nothing seemed to have splintered, and Natasha’s breathing was normal. If they could just get that shoulder taken care of, that would buy them a few hours to do x-rays and get Banner over if they needed him.

 

Moving quickly, Fury sterilized the open shoulder wound. It had been a through and through, so there was no need to pull the bullet out. They just needed to stitch it and wrap it. They worked in methodical silence, sealing up the wounds and keeping her sedated and dosed with painkillers. 

 

Satisfied Natasha was out of immediate danger, Fury left Coulson to watch over her while he ran to the tech lab to grab the portable x-ray machine. The adrenaline that had been keeping him going since they escaped the base was draining from him, making him wobbly as he walked and suddenly very aware of his own injuries. They were nothing as alarming as Natasha’s. He could handle the cuts and bruises later.

 

Turning into the tech room, Fury stopped dead at the sight in front of him. Stark was sitting on the floor, muttering to himself. Blueprints, metal, and circuits surrounded him. It looked as if he had torn apart half the weapons supply and tech to build something new.

 

“Please tell me you at least didn’t touch the x-ray machine?” That would be just his luck.

 

Tony jerked, head whirling till he spotted Fury.

 

“Oh. Thank God!” Despite the touch of mania that surrounded him, Tony seemed almost… pleased… to see him. Fury frowned. Tony was never pleased to see him. He often had a clever quip ready for any interaction with Fury. What the hell happened in the few hours they were gone?

 

“What happened? Other than the obvious.” Fury gestured towards the pile of machinery at his feet.

 

Tony looked around at the metal carnage sheepishly. “If it helps I didn’t damage any of your precious sensors.” Small miracles. “But…” Tony’s face shuttered, “I might have done some less… technical damage.”

 

Fuck. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was definitely too late for this. Or early? Is 4:00 am early when you haven’t slept? Fury shook the thought away, it didn’t matter.

 

“Should I be sitting for this?” Fury quipped, eyebrow raised.

 

“…. Maybe?” Tony looked unsure and lost. Fury could count the number of times he had seen Stark so lost on one hand. It often had to do with…. Well shit. His night apparently just got worse.

 

“Did you break Barnes?” Fury growled. The point of having Tony around, sporadic as it occurred, was to keep Barnes calm.

 

Tony flinched. “I didn’t _break_ him. Break is so permanent. Dented, stilted…. That I may be responsible for.”

 

If Fury hadn’t been so drained and sore, he might have throttled the other man.

 

“You know what.” Fury decided, “I’m gonna take a seat. You’re gonna find me that x-ray machine, cause I ain’t going near that mechanical graveyard you’re sitting in, and you’re going to tell me just what the hell happened.”

 

“Sure, sure.” Not even protesting the order, Tony got up and started rummaging around the room. “Hey, what do you need the x-ray machine for anyway? I thought it was just a standard retrieval op?”

 

“It was a trap. Romanov is down. I’ve got Coulson looking after her for the moment but we need that machine to make sure she doesn’t have any internal injuries.”

 

Tony paused in his search and shot him a lingering, assessing look, finally taking in the various rips and scrapes and swelling that was starting to affect the vision in Fury’s one good eye. “You do look a bit worse for wear. How’s you’re shadow?”

 

“Coulson took a few knife injuries and a bullet graze, but nothing too serious.” Fury reported. Tony nodded distractedly, muttering to himself and refocusing his attention on the search for the elusive x-ray machine. Fury narrowed his eyes. Tony was acting strangely.

 

“Report, Stark. Let me worry about my agents. Tell me what happened tonight?”

 

“After you left… Aha! Found it.” Tony waved the machine triumphantly.

 

“Stark.” Tony sagged, dropping the machine on the table beside Fury and slid down the wall.

 

“After you left, I went inside to grab a bottle of wine cause Rogers was annoying me and feathers had already taken the one I brought.” Tony frowned and mentioned absently, “I think feathers is going to need some serious groveling by the way. He’s a bit pissed off.”

 

Of course he was. “One crisis at a time, Stark.”

 

“Right. Anyway, so I went to get the wine. I was on my way back out when I overheard Rogers and Jamie getting into it.” Tony paused, “I like Rogers by the way. He’s annoying, and a bit uptight from where his moral compass is logged up his ass, but he’s nice. I think he’s good for Jamie.”

 

“Well that was the plan.” Fury retorted.

 

Tony shrugged. “Anyway, they got into it and then Steve called him out and seemed to calm Jamie down. Then I went out and got him to agree to try the new prosthetic I made him. The whole procedure was going fine actually, better than all the other times we’d tried to give him a prosthetic.”

 

“So what happened?”

 

Tony gave a harsh laugh. “Me. I opened my big mouth and couldn’t shut up. Mentioned his affection for Rogers and how he should open himself up a bit more emotionally. That he was allowed to have nice things. Little did I realize how much he hated himself.... He let James take over and ran off. He said he was going to take out Steve.” Tony swallowed thickly, eyes wet. “They really fucked him up Nick.” Tony whispered.

 

“Where is he now?” Fury questioned urgently, patting himself down for any non-lethal defensive weapons.

 

“His room probably.” Tony shrugged absently. “I got Clint to get an eye on the fight. Nothing serious went down. Steve is alive and James came back to the house. But I have no clue where he is or what state he’s in.”

 

Fury cursed under his breath.

 

“You didn’t go look for him?”

 

“Not a lot I can do against James.” Tony replied, bitterly. “He wasn’t too happy with me when he ran off anyway. Besides, I tried to call you right when it happened. You didn’t get my messages?”

 

“Lost my phone in an explosion.”

 

Tony gave a surprised laugh. “Well. We all seem to be having a really shitty night.”

 

Fury hummed his agreement, watching Tony cautiously. The other man just stared at the pile of broken metal in the middle of the room with a deprecating smile.

 

“Well….” For once Fury was a bit at a loss. He’d left earlier that day with a clear strategy and understanding of the actors in play. Now it seemed that plan had been turned upside down and it was all he could do at the moment to salvage the scraps.  
  
“You and I will handle James in the morning.” Fury decided, he had immediate concerns to deal with in the other room. “From what you’ve said, there is no immediate danger that he’s posing.”

 

“Yea… about that… I don’t know if I’ll be here in the morning. I don’t know if it’s for the best that I stick around.” Tony spoke softly, unsure, picking at the watch on his wrist.

 

Fury rolled his eyes. “Why the hell not? That kid is gonna need you.”

 

Tony flinched, “We both know that’s not true.”

 

He didn’t have time to deal with angsty billionaires. “Stark. I don’t know what your deal is right now. I don’t particularly care. You’re the closest thing that kid has got to a father and you need to _man up_ and stop running away every time things get hairy. You’ve never seen him every time you run out on him. He doesn’t hold it against you, but it sure does a number on him.” Tony’s head jerked around to face him, eyes wide.

 

Fury stood and grabbed the portable x-ray machine as he headed for the door. Giving pep talks at four am was not in his job description. Though to be fair, he didn’t really have a set job description since the organization he used to run, SHIELD, currently thinks he’s dead. Regardless, it definitely wasn’t in his temperament.

 

He paused as he left. “One piece of advice Stark? If you feel like you don’t deserve his trust, do something to actually be worthy of it. Stop being a coward.”

 

* * *

 

Phil nearly cried at the sight of the familiar royal blue door of his and Clint’s room. It had been a long night and he was tired, achy, and wanted nothing more than to hold Clint and feel a sense of home and normality. Fury had sent him off to sleep just a few minutes before, after he’d come back oddly troubled with the x-ray device and silently helped Phil with his wounds. Phil had half-heartedly offered to watch over Nat but was guiltily grateful when Fury practically kicked him out of the wing.

 

In the end his wounds were mostly superficial knife scrapes and one stray bullet grazing from fighting off Hydra agents when they fled. Despite the three of them taken hostage after being ambushed, the interrogators were not able to get very violent in their interrogation before Natasha had been able to provide the needed distraction for them to free themselves. A distraction that resulted in her being shot. Phil felt a pang of guilt, as it was his six she’d been guarding at the time. She was alive though. That was all that mattered. He’d make it up to her later.

 

For now… Phil’s hand hovered on the knob. He had someone more pressing to make things up to.

 

He pushed the door open; trying to be mindful of the occasional squeak it gave so as not to wake up Clint. He needn’t have bothered though, since Clint was wide-awake, perched on the day bed on the windowsill, with his arms crossed over knees that were pulled up to his chest. He looked like he’d just had a shower, his blonde hair still damp and clothes clinging to him slightly. He was wearing long black pajama pants and his favorite flamboyant yellow shirt. Clint barely acknowledged Phil as he walked in and shut the door behind him. Not even looking at Phil, the only sign he gave that he noticed Phil was a terse side nod in his direction. He seemed happy to ignore Phil for watching the view of the rising sun from their window.

 

Something twisted in Phil at the dismissal. He knew Clint hadn’t been happy he had gone on the mission without him but at the time Clint’s expertise shouldn’t have been necessary, and Phil needed to start handling missions again without him. Clint might be unhappy about it, but Phil could hardly bring himself to feel guilty about leaving him behind when he imagined it had been Clint in Natasha’s place. The very notion sent a thrum of panic through his veins.

 

He shed his ripped and lightly blood stained clothes, except for his boxers, and deposited them in the trash. Grabbing a thin white t-shirt from the dresser, he put it on and made his way to Clint, who was still actively ignoring his presence. He sat with his back to the window and turned to face Clint, who was resolutely turning his head to avoid eye contact. Honestly.

 

Phil raised a calloused hand to turn Clint’s face towards him, trying to make eye contact. Clint looked… sad. His eyes were red and puffy as though he’d been crying. The twisting feeling in Phil worsened.

 

“Hey… What’s wrong? What happened?” Phil inquired anxiously. He’d expected Clint to be upset, but Phil had been ready to deal with indignation and anger, not… this.

 

“It’s nothing.” Clint pushed Phil’s arm away from his face and pushed away from Phil till his back was pressing against the wall.

 

“It’s obviously not nothing. Clint… Just… look at me.”

 

Clint finally looked at him, with sad eyes and a tired set to his shoulders that seemed to have little to do with the hour.

 

“I’m fine Phil.” Clint sighed. “How was the mission?”

 

Phil frowned. He wasn’t used to this side of Clint. Clint, who burned brightly and had a smart-ass comment for everything, even in distress. In the time they had been together, Clint had seemed so much happier than he had before, when the two of them had just been agent and handler and, amidst his other issues, Clint had convinced himself he wasn’t good enough for Phil. Phil had taken great pains to prove Clint wrong and show him how much Phil needed him. The mood Clint seemed to be in was oddly reminiscent of those quiet moments of melancholy he used to lose himself in.

 

He just wanted that brightness back, but Clint was waiting for an answer, an answer that might just make things worse.

 

“The mission… went south. It ended up being a trap.” Phil informed him. Clint gave him an alarmed look, sharp eyes finally taking him in fully and cataloguing his body. He couldn’t even find warmth at finally having that gaze completely focused back on him, since his gaze was so distressed.

 

Clint made an aborted gesture at Phil’s left arm where the edges of a bandage were peeking out under the shirtsleeve.

 

“I thought…” Clint swallowed thickly, something bitter clouding his already despondent gaze. “You told me it was just a standard retrieval op. You _told me,”_ Clint continued, voice rising and accusing, “this mission wouldn’t be violent and that’s why you were leaving me behind after you promised never to do that again.” Phil flinched.

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be. Our intel was faulty. We’re all right though, babe. All of us are alive, just a little beat up.” Phil wasn’t sure he should tell Clint the extent of Natasha’s injuries. He’d be pissed about it later if Phil hid it from him, but he’d be just as pissed now, and Phil selfishly wanted to put the drama of the night behind them and get the fight over as soon as possible. He just wanted to hold his lover and find his anchor again. 

 

“Just… just how beat up are you, Phil? And don’t you dare lie to me.” Clint’s voice was shaky, but he was crossing the distance to kneel in front of Phil and check the bandaged arm.

 

The warmth of his hand on his arm was comforting despite the circumstances. “Hydra got the drop on us and interrogated us briefly. I’ve got some minor knife wounds from that.” Clint paled and started making motions to peel Phil’s shirt off to check the bandages underneath. Phil let him, as he continued his report. “Natasha got us out of there in the end but there was some gun fire and shock blasts. I got a bullet graze on my side, but nothing more. I swear.” Phil motioned to the gauze at his side, just above his hip. Clint’s hands tentatively moved across the new bandages, brushing against old scars as his hands traveled up Phil’s torso to pause on one in particular.

 

Clint’s body was oddly angled away from him, except for his rough hands that now traced the long, thick scar just centimeters from his heart. It was almost a year ago now that Phil had gotten that scar. It had been an op in Berlin to take out a Hydra sect. The mission had been a success and they were just running down the last rouge agent as the base burned to the ground in the distance. Clint made the call to double back on his own and try clocking him from the roof while Phil tracked him on foot. During the chase, the agent seemingly vanished only to suddenly reappear with a large knife and run Phil through, barely missing his heart. Clint’s headshot had been just a second too late. Phil had nearly died, and Clint had never stopped blaming himself.

 

It had been several months before Fury had let Phil anywhere near the field, and Clint had made Phil promise never to go on a mission without him. Phil had even managed to keep that promise, until now. He suddenly felt very guilty. In the past year, after every mission - whether Phil was there or not, Clint would peel him out of his shirt and trace that scar. It had calmed him before, but now it seemed to only further distress him.

 

“Do you…” Clint paused, seeming to weigh if he really wanted to say whatever he was about to say. “Do you not trust me to have your back?”

 

His shoulders were hunched, and was avoiding Phil’s gaze again. Phil startled at the question. How could Clint think that?

 

“Of course I trust you!” Phil grasped Clint’s hands tightly.

 

“Clint… I trust you to have my back more than anyone. Why would you think otherwise?” How was this even a question?

 

“You nearly died because I made a shitty call in Berlin.” Clint whispered, the words seeming to be dragged out of him. “I should have stuck by your side. I’ve made other shitty calls over the years because I’m reckless and that landed you with unnecessary damage. Maybe all I do is make shitty calls. Maybe it’s better that you went on this mission without me.”

 

Phil couldn’t understand what he was listening too. He knew Clint blamed himself, however unnecessarily, for Berlin, but he thought they’d gotten over the brunt of it. He understood Clint was being protective, wanting to be with him on missions, but this… Phil didn’t understand where this was coming from. They were a team. They had been a team long before they’d gotten together.

 

“Clint…,” Clint pulled away from Phil and curled into himself against the wall, leaning his head on the window.

 

“Clint.” Phil said firmer, moving closer to the other man. “I need you to listen to me. You need to stop blaming yourself for Berlin. You can’t control the world or keep me from getting hurt anymore than I can do the same for you. You think I don’t hate myself every time you get hurt and I could have possibly done something to prevent it?”

 

“That’s different.” Clint protested.

 

“How? Because you’re the one getting hurt? I love you, and I would keep you safe but it’s not in our natures to run away from a fight. As a result, we sometimes get hurt, but it is _not your fault._ ” Phil grabbed Clint’s feet and dragged them down so he could straddle Clint’s lap.  

 

“Where is this all coming from? Really? It’s not like we don’t get hurt on missions all the time. I’ve made my share of bad calls too and you’ve never held that against me.” Phil asked.

 

Clint sighed, and drooped against the wall. It was minutes before he responded. “I got drunk and almost shot Bucky.” The words were frank, matter of fact. His expression shuttered, almost waiting for Phil to yell at him.

 

Phil did have to restrain the yell of frustration. It wouldn’t help matters. “Why did you almost shoot him?” The words were more terse than he had been aiming for.

 

“I was pissed after you left, then upset. I ended up on the roof, drunk.” Phil tensed, but Clint just shrugged. “Tony showed up and told me James was trying to kill Steve so I set up my rifle full of tranqs and aimed it at him. My aim might not have been at its best, despite what I told Stark.”

 

“Did you shoot him?” James going postal was bad, but he knew Clint would never forgive himself if he hurt Bucky.

 

“No!” Clint shook his head quickly. “No. I didn’t have to. James actually left Steve alone and went back to the house.” Huh. Weird. But not the thing Phil really cared about at the moment.

 

“So what you’re saying is you believe that I don’t think you have my back and make shitty calls because you didn’t make a great one tonight?”

 

Clint shrugged. “It’s just something Stark said.”

 

“If I had a dollar for every stupid, shitty thing that man has ever said, I’d be wealthier than him.” Phil snapped, frustrated. “Forget him,” he implored, “You didn’t _hurt_ anyone.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you guys can trust me. People have _died_ because of me Phil. People who thought they could trust me. I cant… I can’t let that happen to you or Bucky or Nat. Maybe I should just go.” Clint tried to shove Phil off, but Phil grabbed his hands and boxed him into the corner where the wall met the window, thighs clenching at Clint’s hips. Clint half-heartedly fought back.

 

“You’re not that person anymore Clint. What happened to you at that damn circus… you being an assassin... All of it. You’re not that guy anymore. I’ve seen how much you’ve changed. You’ve let people in and you became someone you we’re proud of, someone who could be relied on. Hell, even when you had just come over to our side and couldn’t stand me, you had my back. You’ve never let me down in your life. Don’t start now. _Please._ ” Clint had stopped struggling and his eyes were misty. Phil pressed their foreheads together, hands releasing Clint’s arms to grasp the back of his neck.

 

“I just…” Clint swallowed thickly. “I don’t always trust myself, I guess.” Phil’s heart clenched at how lost and unsure Clint sounded. “This… you and me… this job… I still wake up scared that this will be the day I screw it up and find out I really am what they tried to make me.”

 

“Clint….” Phil lifted his head to brush a soft kiss to Clint’s forehead, tangling one hand in damp, blonde hair.

 

“Why did you never tell me any of this? We’ve been together for three years. I thought you were happy?” Phil’s insides clenched. How did he not notice the man he loved was unhappy and stewing in this fear?  

 

Clint jerked back, staring at Phil incredulously. “I _am_ happy! Damnit Phil. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

 

“I could show you you’re not dangerous. Not to me, and not to the others. You and Bucky. The pair of you, honestly. Thinking you don’t deserve happiness or will somehow ruin it because you’ve been screwed up by others. Not to belittle the trauma you two have been through, but every last one of us here has trauma and reasons to feel inadequate.”

 

Clint snorted dismissively, “Not perfect Rogers, he’s like the scion of goodness. Doesn’t even have a hint of a dark side.”  

 

Phil gave an amused chortle, “Especially Rogers, actually. Kid has more secrets than you’d think Clint.”

 

“Seriously?” Clint asked, curious.

 

“They’re not my secrets to tell, but ask him about his teenage years sometime. He’s got plenty of reasons to think he doesn’t deserve redemption, but, as you’ve stated, he’s a good man. He’s noble and he tries. Just like the rest of us. You can be reckless in the field, yes,” Clint’s expression darkened, “but I trust you. We all trust you to have our backs and we know, even if you don’t, that you would never actively hurt any of us. I don’t care what those fuckers did to you.” Phil would tell him that every day if he had too. He would have told him sooner if had known this fear had been weighing on the younger man.

 

“I can’t promise never to go out in the field without you again.” Clint glared at Phil, mouth working to form an argument.

 

“No.” Phil was firm.

 

“If you’re in the field with me every time you’re going to obsessively watch my back instead of your own.” Phil chastised him. “If I get hurt, because that’s a risk we take in our jobs, you will only continue to blame yourself. I understand your angry I left today on my own and the mission went south, but to be honest I’m glad you weren’t there. I wasn’t going to tell you this but Natasha was shot.”

 

Clint let out a wounded, strangled noise.

 

“She’s fine!” Phil was quick to assure him. “She’ll be ok. My point is that could have easily been you. Neither one of us wants the other to get hurt but we can’t blame ourselves when they do unless we are actively trying to hurt the other or knowingly make a really stupid call.”

 

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me about Nat.” Clint accused.

 

Phil let out a frustrated sigh, “Clint, I…”

“I know.” Clint interjected, “I understand. Really, I do. I just need to let go a little bit and learn to trust myself more.”

 

“And ignore Stark. He’s a powder keg of issues all on his own.” Phil couldn’t stress that enough if he tried.

 

“Yes” Clint huffed a laugh, “And Ignore Stark.”

 

Phil smiled softly at the other man. There was still a shadow of doubt in his eyes, but the melancholy that pervaded him when Phil had come in to the room seemed to have lifted. He shifted off the sill, his side sore from where he’d been grazed and muscles tense from they way they’d been sitting. Phil wasn’t as young as he used to be.

 

“Now. We’ve both had a really crappy day.” Phil grabbed his thin shirt off the windowsill, mindful of how he was bending, and tossing it towards their hamper. “I, for one, would like nothing more than to make out with you and finally get some sleep. I don’t intend to leave that bed for at least 24 hours, sleeping or otherwise, unless it’s for food. Sound good?”

 

His smile unabashedly suggestive, Phil extended a hand to Clint who eagerly grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled flush against Phil. He covered Clint’s full, plush mouth in a soft, gentle kiss. He didn’t want to rush this moment. Clint’s mouth was so warm, the caress of his lips soft. Phil tentatively licked into Clint’s mouth, earning him a low moan. Clint’s hands trailed up Phil’s side, to cup the back of his head and pull him down to deepen the kiss. They kissed languidly, as if they had all the time in the world.

 

Yet, it seemed air was still a necessity. Phil pulled back to catch his breath and his heart skipped at the warmth like sunlight radiating from Clint’s smile. It was all he managed to do to redirect them towards the bed as he dipped back in for another kiss, more passionate and heated than before. Phil could feel Clint’s heartbeat hammering fit to burst, flushed together has they were. Clint’s mouth was fierce on his, and Phil’s hand twisted in the tangles of Clint’s hair as he lowered them onto the bed. 

 

The man beneath him was his heart, and he would spend every day proving to Clint that he trusted him until he learned to trust himself.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to thank everyone for their lovely comments. I really appreciate it:) Also, sorry this took so long guys! I have the rest of the story mapped out but i've been struggling to find time to write it. I'll try not to let another month go by this time lol.


	9. Be Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Bucky remembers... and wishes he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with DID. I tried to stay as close as I could for the purposes of the story and the fact that everything I know about it is from reading about it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: There is a lot of reference to war, abuse, torture (mental, physical, and sexual) mental manipulation, and the like. Nothing too explicit but I'll leave this here just in case.

James did not immediately return to his room upon reentering the estate. Rather, he made his way to the east wing, pausing at a dark, chaotic room that to anyone else was a storage room, but was actually full of remnants of Bucky’s past. He couldn’t be sure why he was here. These memories and desires housed in this room had little to do with him, yet he felt a pull to them all the same. Perhaps he was feeling unease about the damage he was about to do to Bucky and wanted to give him something to keep him grounded after. He wandered the small room, avoiding boxes and loose papers as he took in the various items. Nothing seemed to catch his eye until he came upon a battered, deep red colored, journal with a thick heavy silver cross on a beaded thread lying across it. It had belonged to their… Bucky’s mother, who had been a devout Catholic. James frowned at the stray thought, reaching out his right hand to caress the cool metal. It wouldn’t do him good to go down that thought process. He needed to focus on the task at hand. His mission was to guide Bucky through the memories James was keeping locked away, and keep him protected. No more, no less. This room was just a foolish detour. He turned to leave, but paused and gave the cross and journal another look. Bucky had loved going to mass with his mother. James sighed. He was turning soft. He pocketed the cross and the journal and made his way back to his room on the second floor.

 

The room was cozy, with walls covered in red wallpaper with gold detailing. A deep grey couch sat in front of a wall of bookshelves covered in an array of titles. The shelves bookended a tv screen hooked up to the wall. The French doors leading to the patio were draped in white fabric. A four-poster bed, covered in a frankly ridiculous amount of pillows, sat in the corner opposite the bookshelves. The room itself was much smaller than Rogers’ - Bucky hadn’t liked having a lot of open space. James liked the homey feel of it – a stark contrast to the dirt and rock of the desert or the cold, starkness of the labs. He felt safe here. If it could only last… but James had never hoped for a semblance of a happy ending.

 

James took a seat on the grey, cushioned sofa – they might as well be comfortable. It was time to get the party started, as they say. There was no time like the present. He could almost feel Bucky pushing to get through. He hadn’t put up a fight when he’d allowed James to take control earlier that evening, making it easier to keep him away during that irritating confrontation with Rogers. He flushed irritably at the thought of that…. overstepping, inept man. Rogers had had the gall to _touch him_ let alone offer James help, as if he was some poor, damaged creature who just needed a kind hand. Those advances would work better with Bucky, who still believed the best of people and seemed to crave a kind touch. There was nothing that could, or needed to be fixed with James. Whatever his issues, they were his alone. He definitely didn’t need some random guy with a secret past and a hero-complex hanging around trying to ‘fix him’.

 

The man was earnest in his efforts but James still found him untrustworthy. Yet, Rogers had shown guts and sense. James couldn’t keep Bucky here forever.  That had never been the plan, initially. He’d hoped Bucky would cope enough without the memories and be able to get out into the world again. Yet, those therapists that tried to meddle in their memories had jeopardized that goal, knocking free scraps of traumatic memory carelessly and without consideration – doing more damage than good to his charge. After Iraq, James had no love for those who poked around thoughtlessly into other people’s minds.

 

That said, Rogers had a point. In a perfect world where Bucky would actually rely on him and Steve would for sure not run away, Bucky might have a chance of getting through this with a shred of innocence intact. However this was not a perfect world, and James hated himself for how he was about to pollute that innocence. For all his disdain of Roger’s earnestness, he cherished the bright, optimistic way Bucky still saw the world – free of real first-hand knowledge of how terrible it could be. James would never have that. From his inception, James had been a caged beast for those who wanted to destroy men. This mission to protect Bucky was his only shot at being something good.

 

Yet, Bucky deserved the truth, however badly he might handle it. James could give him this. Who knows? He might yet surprise them all. Yet, there was still a chance Steve would show his true colors and leave – lofty promises be damned, or Bucky might choose to give up what he learned and James could return everything to the way it was before Steve reared his head in their affairs. In that future, perhaps the others would stop sending outsiders to the estate and they could find a semblance of peace here in their isolation. The others would eventually move on.

 

For now, James would go along with the current plan.

 

It was almost like going to sleep. It was dark and weightless. There were swirls of color. In the midst, he reached out to Bucky and opened their connection. He could feel his confusion and anxiety through the bond.

 

**_What happened?_ **

****

_You became upset and asked me to take over for a little while. Do you remember?_

**_I… think so? Tony was there… he was testing a prototype arm… we were talking, talking about… I don’t remember. Why don’t I remember?_ **

James may have been pre-emptive in taking that memory from Bucky. It hardly seemed necessary in retrospect.

 

_It hardly matters now. What matters is I went to have a… conversation… with Rogers_

**_The FUCK James,_** Bucky interjected, ** _If you ran him off I swear to God man…_**

****

_Calm yourself._ James interrupted. _Your precious Steve is still on the property. We came to an agreement regarding your memories._

**_You mean the memories that I haven’t been able to get to?_ **

****

_The very same. I’ll give them to you. All of them. On one condition._

**_The hell you mean, you’ll ‘give them to me’?_** Burst of anger. **_They’re_ my _memories. I’ve been chasing after these memories for years and you’re the reason every time something slips through the cracks it vanishes again. Like your some damn guardian of the fucking crypt._**

****

_I wouldn’t put it like that… but essentially… Yes._ James was un rattled by the other mans assessment of him. He would never apologize for his actions regarding Bucky. There was no need. _It was in the best interest of my duty to protect you to keep you unaware of the memories._

****

**_If I could punch you I would, you dick._** The flare of anger grew. ** _Not a fucking child. Maybe try NOT protecting me quite so much, yea?_**

****

_Never._

 

It was quiet for a long time. James could feel the conflict roiling in Bucky, who was torn between anger and getting what he’d been after for years.

 

 ** _So you’re going to give them to me._** Bucky finally replied. **_Just like that? Must have been some conversation with Steve._** The instant spark fondness at the mention of the blonde-headed man irked James.

****

_It became clear that if we are to more fully embrace one another and for me to fulfill my duty to protect you, I need to give you these memories so we can all finally leave this place._

**_That sounds an awful lot like that integration crap one therapist was trying to get us to do. I remember you didn’t take kindly to him or his theories. So what exactly changed your mind?_ **

_Nothing. I have no intention of integrating. Of dying. I have my own reasons to give you the memories._

**_You’re not actually a real person, you realize this? This is MY BODY. You’re just a personality I developed to compartmentalize trauma that has overstayed their welcome._ **

 

 _Disregarding the stupidity of that statement lets get one thing clear. I am just as real as you are boy._ James felt Bucky’s words cut deep. He took a moment to breathe before continuing, the anger and hurt clawing its way through him. _However, that is not the concern in question. Do you want the memories or not?_

 

**_Of course I do, but can you actually promise not to keep something from me?_ **

_I promise not to withhold anything. On my honor._

 

 ** _What honor._** Bucky retorted irritably before calming and considering James offer. **_If… if you’re being legit then.. Yes. I would really appreciate the memories. Thank you…_** There was an unusual rush of gratitude directed at James. It made him uncomfortable.

_I quite doubt you’ll thank me for this later._

****

_I do have one condition of course, as I mentioned before._

 

**_What is it? I’ll do anything._ **

****

_If you cannot handle the memories, I’m taking them back._ _I'll give you one week._

* * *

 

  
It was like watching a newsreel at first, the images just a collection of scenes and ghosts of emotions as if from someone else’s life. It seemed unfocused and out of order until, all of a sudden, Bucky found himself thrust into each scene as if it was happening to him right then. Every thought and feeling crushing him. It was what he’d wanted, to know everything, but he hadn’t thought it would feel like this.

 

_He was trembling. His entire body was shaking uncontrollably, grip on his gun dangerously loose. Bucky was just a kid, barely eighteen. This wasn’t supposed to be his life. He was supposed to be home, surrounded by friends and Uncle Tony, being young, stupid and reckless. He should be practicing and composing new pieces for his first semester at Juliard, but his father would never hear of that. Every generation of Barnes men for as far back as he could recall had served in the military. To make it worse, Bucky was supposed to go home and work for his father after his enlistment ended. His whole life had been planned out, regardless of what he wanted._

_Bucky might have even been able to cope with that, but this…. This moment just days into his deployment…he’d known it would come. He’d_ known. _But… no amount of knowing changed anything. He couldn’t have ever planned for or found any way to cope with this. Bile rose in his mouth at the mess of blood, bone and dust in front of him. The man’s empty gaze stared back up at him._

_His first kill._

_The army had trained them to be prepared to defend themselves and be prepared to pull the trigger. Bucky had known it would happen, but… the reality was so much worse. Knowing that he COULD pull the trigger. Even in the middle of a skirmish, Bucky could only stare at the cooling body in front of him. Was he someone’s father? Someone’s husband?_

_It was the sharp pain of a bullet grazing his shoulder, and a man from his unit, Grayson, pulling him behind a wall, that kept him from falling to pieces right there._

_Later when he looked himself in the mirror, Bucky couldn’t recognize himself. It felt like the kid he had been died with that shot from his gun._

 

The images blurred again, rushing through him till they focused on one night on base.

 

_It had been 18 months and 12 days since Bucky had enlisted with the army. 12 months and 21 days since he’d been deployed and 12 months and 18 days since his first kill. It was horrible to say, but it had gotten easier. After the horror of that first kill, something had broken in him, making every kill in combat easier, almost instinctive. In a fight there was no time to think about who was on the other end of his gun. Yet, in the night, when the battle was over and he was left with nothing but his thoughts, the faces of the dead crept in. He was a sniper now, and could count the number of deaths he’d been made responsible for. Oh they said it was all for the betterment of their country, but those he killed were still people. Bucky quickly found he had to rationalize to survive. They were killing his men. They needed to be stopped. The lives of his men mattered more. Over and over again he told himself this, trying to push the dead away._

_Nights like this, after a particularly violent day, Bucky just wanted to forget and he was unabashedly grateful for the spirit of drunkenness that had taken over this corner of the dining area. Grayson, easily his best friend in the unit, was draped over him, laughing at some awful joke. The companionship eased some of the ache in him, but Bucky was tired. He loved his unit and his country but he was never meant to be a soldier. He spent his life dreaming of a different sort of future. Yet, that punk kid who just wanted to go to Juliard and experience life seemed further and further out of reach with every passing day. Bucky’s only dream right now was not to die, and, if he was really lucky, to feel a little less alone._

_The drinking went on for another hour before Bucky made the decision to call it a night as Grayson was getting more and more handsy under the table. The two of them wandered off together. It had become a thing with them. They never talked about it, but every once in awhile they would sneak away to a private spot while the others were preoccupied and seek comfort and release in one another. They both needed to forget sometimes. Tonight looked like it would be fast and filthy as Grayson shoved Bucky against the wall and took him in his mouth. It was the best release either of them got in the midst of the fighting, and it was the only time Bucky ever forgot._

Bucky continued to relive each and every moment, filling in the blanks James had left. Memories of war and being asked to things no one should ever be asked to do. Battles fought, friends lost, scars earned, and innocence lost with every hard choice. He gritted his teeth and bore it as he relived the moment he learned his father had died, two years into his enlistment. A stroke, they told him. Everyone had wanted him to come home, lead the company, but Bucky couldn’t do it. He was never supposed to be a soldier, but he was one now. For better or worse. That life in New York seemed to belong to another person now.

 

_He’d just turned 21 when he met them. A select team had been chosen amongst his unit to work with a third-party organization on an unofficial operation. He remembered the first time he saw them fight in the field, the bright, red-haired woman fast and deadly up close, the man with easy, deadly accuracy that made Bucky question his role in this operation._

_The operation lasted four months. Four months away from Grayson, his only real friend out here, and the loneliness had started to eat at him within a few weeks. It wasn’t until the fifth week of their mission, when the man, who they were all told to call Hawkeye, was fighting hand to hand with a burly man, his weapon knocked away. With sickening ease, Bucky lined up the shot and took out the burly man. Hawkeye looked surprised and, when he finally spotted Bucky in the distance, gave him a thankful nod._

_Later that night, when Bucky was eating on his own, the stocky man and flame haired woman joined him, introducing themselves as Natasha and Clint. It was a surprisingly easy friendship they struck up that night. They understood him in ways that he hadn’t found in the rest of his unit, not even Grayson. It made the next few months bearable, and at times, enjoyable. Even after the operation ended, Clint and Natasha would request to work with him or just check in once in awhile. Sometimes Bucky felt like an adopted duckling, with their constant worrying, but he was just as bad with them. It was almost like having a family again._

Another year flew by Bucky. Another year of taking what little happiness he could in the face of the horrors of war. One last year before his life truly became hell.

 

_It smelled like burning flesh. He couldn’t even tell if it was his own or someone elses. Their unit had been ambushed in an unfamiliar sector of the city, land mines going off as they tried to retreat by foot. Car bombs detonating. It was like an all you can eat buffet of awful. Bucky had been struck back by the blast of one of the explosions. He couldn’t feel anything, could only smell the burning and the cries of people dying over the ringing in his ears. With darkness creeping into his vision, he had really thought he would die in that moment. He almost wished he had._

_Instead he woke to strange men working on him, the voices garbled. He came in and out of consciousness several times. The only words he ever made out were ‘compliance’, ‘hydra’, and ‘experiment.’ The first time he was conscious for longer than five minutes, he had been thrown into a crowded cell, full of members of his unit. Over half of them had been killed in the ambush. It was also the first time Bucky realized his arm was missing. He wouldn’t get a good look at the full damage until he woke up in New York, but from the pitying looks of his comrades, Bucky could only assume it was bad._

_His arm quickly became the least of his worries. Men in his unit quickly started to disappear or go mad. There were whispers of experiments being done. One day, Grayson returned to their cell, pale and shaky, muttering about ‘compliance being rewarded’. When Bucky tried to console him, he went for Bucky’s throat. The others just barely managed to pull Grayson off and restrain him._

_The very next day Bucky was taken to be experimented on._

For three and a half months, Bucky and his dwindling unit were held by the organization he later learned was named Hydra. In that time he never saw who was leading this band of apparent terrorists, but was subjected to all manner of sexual, mental, and physical torture and conditioning. Even reliving the memories, Bucky’s recollection of specifics was foggy at best. Shades of impulses and thoughts came back to him though. A need to serve and obey any order given above any other prerogative.

 

 _Four months in, their numbers had dwindled to a mere fifteen. Bucky only knew it had been four months because he’d heard a guard talking about the holidays. The days bled together and their captors were happy to pass the time by testing their triggers and conditioning on the other members of their unit. Bucky was distressingly glad that Grayson was still here. None of them were_ them _anymore, but that familiar presence and source of love gave him something in order to cling onto reality._

_Perhaps the guards had realized his and Grayson’s attachment, or maybe they were just wanting to test the limits of their conditioning to see how well we would serve them. Either way, almost a month later, the two of them were dragged to an office where an older white man, Pierce they called him, was waiting. He’d taken a scientific shine to Bucky, who seemed to be responding well to their procedures without degrading in health and sanity like the rest of the unit._

_The order was given for Bucky to kill Grayson. It was such a casual offhand request, as if Pierce had been ordering lunch and not for Bucky to kill someone he loved. Grayson looked scared. Bucky tried to refuse. He spat at Pierce when he drew near, which only earned him a bruising slap across the cheek. He’d nodded at a man behind Bucky who yanked Bucky’s neck to the side and jabbed him with a needle. After a few minutes, Bucky’s vision went hazy and Pierce repeated the order. Bucky barely felt himself move to take the offered knife and stand in front of a kneeling Grayson, who just gave Bucky a weak, resigned grin. Tears welled in his eyes._ It’s ok. I don’t blame you. _Grayson told him, shaky voice betraying his words._ I love you, man. It’ll all be ok. Just do it fast alright? _The knife shook in Bucky’s hand where it bit into Grayson’s neck. He tried with everything he had not to slice the knife across his neck, but his hand moved unwittingly, as he pled for Grayson’s forgiveness. In that moment he flew into the recesses of his mind. He couldn’t witness that last act. Retreating into his mind felt like going to sleep. After all the months and years of horror and torture he just wanted to sleep. Forget it happened before he added another tragedy to the list._

_He couldn’t have been prepared for what was born. James woke in his place, unsure of the world, and looked absently at the blood on his hands. James had been born numb to the nuance of feelings and morality. Things that would take years for him to grasp. Right then, he just knew one thing for certain. He had a mission._

_The white haired man behind him was praising him and how the work he would do from then on would shape the century. Was this who was supposed to serve? But… that was wrong…. His work was something else… he needed to keep someone safe. A fragment of a poor man locked away. The man behind him was wrong. He would not help him._

_Turns out that was just wishful thinking._

 

_The conditioning remained in him. He felt compelled to do what they asked. Apart from keeping the man in his mind safe, he had no other purpose. No family or friends. He was a blank slate, with only the drive to protect Bucky while the conditioning taught him to serve his new master. It was frightfully easy to detach himself on the missions he was given as we was unsure what was really right or wrong. That is until about a month later when the order was given for him to blow up a local school filled with children. He knew that was wrong somehow. He knew Bucky wouldn’t like it._

_James refused. It was the first real decision he really made that wasn’t controlled by other people in his mind, and it felt like it was right. Pierce had been furious and vindictive in his punishment._

_Days later the base was stormed and a bright, red-haired woman and stocky blonde haired man retrieved him. They spoke of taking him home. He didn’t know who they were but they seemed to know Bucky. Following them felt right too._

The rest of the memories surged through Bucky, the moment he woke for the first time to realize what happened, the first time James took control, the first time he went out in public and almost killed a journalist who got to close, all the countless therapy sessions. He saw every single day, good and bad, up to last night, and he wanted none of it. This had been a terrible idea.

**_James… What have I done?_ **

 


	10. Out of Depth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky finally gets a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this has taken ages to update. It's not as good as I wanted but it had been so long since I'd updated I had to give you something. 
> 
> My life has gotten crazy with my sister moving in with her two kids and taking up about 90% of my time. I'll try to keep this going with more steady updates though.
> 
> As always, thank you for your comments! I didn't get to reply to them all but I appreciate them :)

Fury had never been an especially compassionate person. He was often accused of being cold, manipulative, or indifferent – even with those he cared for. Yet, this Barnes kid was making him feel downright fatherly. He first met Bucky when giving orders on a couple classified ops that Nat and Clint had requested the younger man for. Within days, he’d someone managed to work his way under Fury’s skin and never leave. Watching him now, Fury had the unpleasant urge to give the troubled man a hug.

 

Fury pushed down the urge, instead choosing to watch him from his spot leaning against the wall. Fury had come to talk to him, but Barnes was currently content to ignore Fury and peer out the window onto the backyard, where Fury could just make out Rogers and Clint sparring. Clint had taken it upon himself to teach the other man after the ‘incident’ a few nights prior, claiming that he’d gotten second hand embarrassment just watching the other man try to defend himself from Barnes.

 

Barnes’ shoulders were tense, eyes dark and narrowed. Yet, his lips occasionally twitched in – dare he say it – fond amusement. It seemed like today was a good day. Fury wished he didn’t have to ruin that, but there were pressing matters to discuss. He walked over to join him by the window, sure to make sure he stayed in Barnes’ line of sight.

 

“Barnes. Kid, we need to talk.”

 

Barnes’ small twitch of a smile faded.

 

“Bucky wishes to be left alone at this time. I’m afraid whatever business you need to discuss will have to be with me.”

 

Barnes raised his gaze to meet Fury’s. He looked exhausted. His eyes were shadowed and dark hair mused and greasy. His jaw was dark with stubble. When was the last time he slept?

 

“I need to talk to you about Hydra. Preferably _just_ you. If you catch my meaning.”

 

Barnes eyes crossed oddly, before refocusing.

 

“We will not be overheard. What do you need to tell me?”

 

“First…. Can I ask… How is he?”

 

“He’s… struggling. His mind changes daily on whether or not he wants to retain these memories. I’m not sure he can handle it.” Barnes confessed.

 

“And remembering hasn’t helped with the DID? We’d been hoping getting his memories back he wouldn’t need you anymore.” It was probably a rude question to ask the alter, but the whole point of the therapists and the schemes was to fix the divide. To help Bucky become whole again.

 

Barnes glared at him.

 

“He will always need me.” He hissed. “Even if he doesn’t want to admit it. You all treat me like a _parasite_ that you’re just waiting for to go away. It is past time for you to realize I am more than just a protector. I’m not going anywhere. Sorry to disappoint. So, fuck you. Fuck your schemes.”

 

If looks could kill, Fury would be on a highway to hell.

 

“We can argue about this later.” Fury went for dismissive, not wanting to show how bothered he was. “For now, we need to talk about Hydra. I have been unable to locate the contact, who sent us into that trap. He’s in the wind. I can only assume we were betrayed or he’s dead. Either way, Hydra is still closing in. They want you back. We’d hoped Bucky getting his memories back would mean he didn’t need you anymore and the Winter Soldier would no longer exist.”

 

Barnes gave a full body flinch at the mention of that name.

 

“It’s impossible to know what triggers are still floating around in your head, impossible to know if we got them all.”

 

“What’s your point?” Barnes bit out.

 

“My _point_ is it seems there is no way to get rid of the Winter Soldier and they’re still coming for you. _However_ , we think we might have a way to stop them.” I hope.

 

“Well, don’t hold us in suspense. What, pray tell, is your genius plan now.” Fury was momentarily thrown by the cadence of the response. It had reminded him of Bucky far more so than James. Odd.

 

“While we were being interrogated, there was mention of a man - codename Crossbones. Ever heard of him? Natasha managed to glean during her interrogation that he was of some importance and had a direct line to Pierce.”

 

“I’ve heard mention of that name. He wasn’t in Iraq with Pierce but I’ve definitely heard the name before. You think he might know how to get to him?” Barnes inquired.

 

“That’s the running theory. Get to Pierce, we can wipe out all knowledge of the project. Hopefully get them off your back for good.”

 

“I can’t say that wouldn’t be a relief. What do you need from me?” Barnes straightened to attention, like a soldier awaiting orders. Fury hated that stance on him.

 

“I need you to take care of Bucky. I’ll let you know if we need you in the field, but it’s probably best to continue to keep you isolated till we can handle this.”

 

“Protecting him is a given, Fury. Yet, I refuse to roll over and let you handle Pierce. That man turned me into a monster and destroyed Bucky. He’s mine.” Barnes bared his teeth, hands clenched.  He was vibrating with carefully controlled rage.

 

Fury watched him with a distant calm he didn’t feel. It wasn’t fair to ask him to stand down, but he couldn’t let the kid wind up back under Pierce. Fury understood revenge. He had a list a mile long of people he would be happy to see into the afterlife. Barnes had every right to waste Pierce, but Fury couldn’t chance sending him in after him.

 

“Stand down, Barnes. I keep you informed and you provide vital intel, but no way in hell am I letting you near Hydra till you’re off their radar.”

 

“You really think you can stop me?” Barnes scoffed.

 

“I’ll do what I have to do.” Fury wouldn’t back down. He’d put a tracker on the kid if he had to.

 

The kid glared at him, distinctly unimpressed with the threat.

 

Fury sighed. “Look kid, it’s a non issue at the moment. We don’t even know how to find this Crossbones. Just… hold tight for now. Focus on Bucky. We’ll handle the rest.”

 

“I don’t like sitting on my ass Fury. I’ve spent the last five years unable to hunt down Hydra. All you have let me do is handle Bucky, which I don’t mind doing, but I feel fucking useless. They made me a soldier, let me fight.” Barnes all but pleaded.

 

“Not. Yet.” Fury stood firm. It wasn’t time for that yet.

 

Barnes grabbed a nearby water glass and threw it at the opposite wall. It shattered on impact. Barnes shook with anger. Fury watched him warily for signs he would turn that rage on him. Barnes made no move for him so Fury kept silent. He wouldn’t explain himself. Barnes might not like it, but Fury didn’t care as long as it kept the kid safe.

 

After several tense minutes, Barnes relaxed slightly and began picking up the shattered glass.

  
“I didn’t come here to trade one master for another, Fury. I’ll stand down for now, but I won’t promise to stand idle if I get wind of Pierce’s whereabouts. Now, if that’s all you needed to talk about I would like you to leave.” Barnes didn’t even bother to look at Fury. He just gathered each shard of glass and deposited them in the bin.

 

Fury should leave, but the thing was….

 

“Actually… there is one more thing. It’s about Rogers.”

 

Barnes shot him an calculating look.

 

“What about him?”

 

“I’m considering asking him to leave.”

 

Barnes let out a sardonic laugh.

 

“Good luck. I already tried to get rid of him. Fool won’t budge. He’s got this hero complex and feels like he needs to save me. Not to mention I may have given him a reason not to run off.”

 

Fury waved that off. “He’s a good guy, but now that the kid has his memories back, I don’t want Rogers around with us closing in on Hydra. Too many unnecessary and awkward questions. It’s not like you actually _want_ him to write a story about Iraq.”

 

“Not even slightly.”

 

“So you don’t mind if I ask him to leave?” Fury expected a bit more resistance if he was being honest.

 

“ _I_ don’t mind.” Barnes shrugged, “To be honest, I’d be glad to have his scion of light attitude and eagerness as far away from me as possible. I don’t trust a guy who doesn’t have a dark side, even less one who pretends like he doesn’t.”

 

“I’m sensing a but.” Fury interjected.

 

“ _But,_ Bucky likes him.”

 

Fury waited for further explanation but none was forthcoming.

  
“That’s it?”

 

Barnes gave him an unimpressed look. “What else do you need to know?”

 

“A bit more than that. It hasn’t stopped you from attacking him so far. Yet another reason to get his ass out of here.”

  
“Bucky’s attached. _Really_ attached. Look. Give the man the option. If he leaves, he leaves. If he doesn’t? Then he’s not completely worthless and I’ll make sure he doesn’t get too curious and I’ll back off. Sound good?”

 

Fury considered it. If Barnes was willing to work with him and not cause another scene than it might be worth keeping him around if the kid was attached.

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Fury turned to leave but was stopped by a strong metal grip on his arm. He looked back at Barnes. The set of his shoulders and mouth had shifted slightly, his gaze wary and unsure. There was a slight tremor to his right hand.

 

“How’s Nat? I haven’t seen her.”

 

“She’s alright, kid.” Fury gave him an awkward pat on his shoulder. “There was no internal damage, just a clean shot to the shoulder and some damage to her ribs. I’ll send her up here first chance I get, alright?”

 

The kid shook his head frantically.  
  
“No! No… Just. Tell her to stop taking risks for me. I love her for it but I love her more alive.”

 

Fury frowned. “Why am I playing messenger? You don’t want to tell her yourself?”

 

The kid shifted uneasily, eyes refusing to make contact with Fury’s good eye.

 

“I don’t want to talk to them just yet.”

 

“Any particular reason why?” Fury had never known him to actively avoid his two best friends.

 

“I just don’t want to. Isn’t that good enough?” He snapped defensively, curling in on himself.

 

“Fine. I’ll pass on the message.” Fury gave him a sharp nod, making for the door.

 

“Thank you.” The kid gave a sigh of relief.

 

“Just..” Fury considered how to phrase this. He wasn’t used to showing people compassion. “They love you kid. We’ve all seen evil and worked for the wrong people. We’ve all made bad calls. If anyone is going to understand it’s them. Don’t shut them out. Don’t give up.”

* * *

  
Steve tapped absently at the tablet he’d been given. He was loosing his mind to boredom and worry. It had been two weeks since he’d last seen Bucky. He appreciated the companionship of Clint and Phil, but the others had been suspiciously absent and distant in the last few weeks. The whole thing was starting to rankle. He’d been sent here to do a job and instead he’s spent the last six weeks either bored out of his mind or caught up in helping Buck. He didn’t mind helping the other man. Bucky was… There were too many words to describe Bucky. Charming... driven… beautiful… Steve smiled at the thought of Bucky’s quirked grin and teasing words…. The way he looked first thing in the morning with the rising sun in the background as they chased each other through the woods.

 

Steve had come here to do a job but had quickly and gladly been deviated by Bucky. Caring for him was as easy as breathing. Steve couldn’t pinpoint the moment in the last couple weeks when he realized how deep his feelings for the man ran… when he realized he felt more than friendship and concern. Somehow in the last six weeks Steve had gone from wanting to finish his job as quickly as possible to get the hell home to finding any excuse to keep around to see Bucky through what he was dealing with and to just see him smile. He didn’t kid himself that the other man wanted him in the same way. Bucky had his own issues to deal with. He didn’t need some love-struck fool complicating things. Really… It didn’t matter, Steve assured himself. He made Bucky a promise and by God he would follow through.

 

He just wished the other man would talk to him.

 

Steve had tried sneaking up to his room, but had been quickly cut off by Clint every time. The man seemed to have a sixth sense about whenever someone was heading towards those stairs. Either that or he was stalking Steve on the security cams to make sure he didn’t “bother the princess before he’s ready to talk.”

 

Clint would then take the opportunity of having Steve in his grasp to take him outside to train him in ‘real’ fighting. Steve hadn’t been so sore or thrown around quite so much since he’d been a scrawny teenager learning how to defend himself on the streets. He was grateful for it though. It kept him occupied and distracted his mind from worrying over why he hadn’t seen Bucky in two weeks.

 

Like now.

 

Steve shut the tablet down. He’d been trying to distract himself with working on a few story ideas running around his head but nothing was grabbing his attention for very long. He could work on the story he’d been hired for, but Steve still wasn’t sure what the right move was regarding whether or not to write that book. The offer was clearly a ploy to get him there but it would still be a great job opportunity. Yet, he felt like using Bucky’s story would be betraying his trust. He’d been debating this particular issue in circles, unable to reach any sort of consensus.

 

Well, Steve considered, he wasn’t about to solve it now and the walls were starting to close in on him. He quickly changed into his favorite blue hoodie and black track pants. If he couldn’t distract himself with writing, he’d go for a run.

 

The air was crisp and cool when Steve exited the house. It was the early days in October, and the temperatures were starting to drop. Steve enjoyed the cooler season. With his asthma much better than it was as a child, Steve no longer had to fear the cold air and dust from the fireplace. Now, he had a soft spot for curling up in blankets by the fire with a hot cup of cocoa and the crunch of leaves beneath his feet when he explored the woods and their changing colors. Now that he didn’t have to worry about being able to breathe, there was something serene and magical about the whole season. 

 

Steve had barely had the chance to enjoy it when he noticed Fury and Tony on the back porch, hunched together in furious whispering. A few weeks ago, that would’ve looked suspicious, but it had recently become a constant occurrence. Recently, Steve would often passed the others in the hall, hunched together in secret conversations, only for one or both to make themselves scarce when they saw Steve. Clint and Phil had been the only ones to try and pretend like everything was normal. Still, the whole thing was starting to give Steve a complex.

 

So much so, that when Fury actually called him over Steve nearly tripped over himself in surprise. He walked over to the two men hesitantly. An exhausted, unshaved Tony gave him a quick once-over before making himself scarce. Steve ignored him, perching his arms on the porch railing. Fury looked a bit worse for wear himself. They all did, if Steve was being honest.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“I wanted to thank you.” Fury said simply.

 

“You’re welcome?” Steve couldn’t think of anything he’d done.

 

“Yes. It’s been a lengthy endeavor but young Barnes has managed to retrieve his memories. I’ve been informed we have you to thank for this.”

 

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “No need to thank me, I didn’t do anything more than talk to James. How is he?”

 

“He’s fine.” Fury replied.

 

Steve bristled. He had asked that question so many times over the last few weeks and every time the answer had just been, “fine.”

 

“As much as I’d like to believe that, there is no way he’s ‘fine’ if he really has gotten his memories back. I promised him I would help. Can I please talk to him?” Steve had tried to get them to let him see Bucky for weeks but no go. Doesn’t mean he would stop asking.

 

True to form, Fury denied him.

 

“I don’t believe that is strictly necessary Rogers. We can handle Barnes. I wanted to talk to you about releasing you from your employment.”

 

Steve’s mouth dropped open in shock.

 

“We offered you the book job in hopes that it would jog something loose in Barnes. You somehow exceeded our expectations by helping him remember everything. So, while we wish to rescind our employment offer we wish to do so with full compensation for your efforts, a top letter of recommendation, and your word that you won’t breathe a word of what you learned here.”

 

“You’re _fucking_ kidding me!” Steve didn’t like to swear, but this seemed like a proper occasion.

 

“I don’t ‘kid’, Rogers. Barnes does not wish to let you write your book and we no longer have need of your participation. As such, your continued presence is a nuisance, regardless of how much people on staff might like you.”

 

Steve’s mind was whirling. Of every option Steve had considered regarding writing the book, he hadn’t considered that he might just be fired. It felt like the floor had disappeared beneath his feet.

 

“But… I promised him.”

 

Fury gave him an unimpressed look. “What makes you think I care about your half-ass promises?”

 

“They’re not _‘half-ass’._ ” Steve spluttered, indignant. “I know I haven’t known him long, but I care what happens to him. I promised Bucky and I promised James that I would be here to help.”

 

“And what, pray tell, is your great plan to ‘help’ him? Hmm? I told you before we didn’t hire you to ‘save him’.” Fury inquired snidely, a singular eyebrow raised.

 

Steve was at a loss for an answer. Bucky was his friend. That much Steve could be sure of. In spite of Steve’s growing feelings for the other man, he hadn’t considered what he could really offer the other man beyond friendship, something he had plenty of in the other inhabitants of the house. He didn’t have some foolproof plan to help him work through the darkness of his past. He just had himself and he’d hoped that would be good enough. What Steve did know is that he wasn’t ready to go back to his little flat with Sam. Especially not without knowing Bucky would be okay.

 

“I don’t... I don’t want to save him. He’s not some damsel in distress waiting for a white knight.” Steve finally said. “I didn’t have some _magical plan_. I just… wanted to be here for him, y’know? You can send me home now and I’m never gonna stop wanting to know he’s okay. Just… let me stay.” Steve pleaded “As a friend. Until I’m sure he’ll be okay. _Please._ ”

 

Fury considered him, face carefully blank. Steve couldn’t get a read on what the other man was thinking.

 

“The first day you got here, you were eager for a story. After meeting Barnes you were just as eager to leave. I forced you to stay and am now offering you a free pass to leave, to go home, and your telling me you suddenly don’t care about your career and want to stay to be just another guy he can talk to when he’s having trouble sleeping?”

 

“More or less.” Steve shrugged.

 

“Hmmm.” Fury narrowed his eye, lips curved in a curious frown. “If I allowed you to stay, you would be doing so with the understanding that there is _no story,_ and if even the slightest mention of his condition is published we will ruin you. Furthermore, if you insist on staying, the same restriction as before regarding your ability to contact the outside world is the same. No job, and no way of leaving. Is Barnes worth it to you?”

 

Steve didn’t even consider his answer.

“Yes.”

 

“Then welcome to your new home, Mr. Rogers. I’m sure we’ll all be quite unhappy together.” 

* * *

Two nights later, Steve was starting to consider the sense of his agreement with Fury. In practice not much had changed. Nat and Tony were still avoiding him, for some unknown reason. Clint still kicked his ass everyday and Phil had become someone to talk to to pass the time. But there’d still been no sign of Bucky or James. He was looking into an unknown amount of time living in an isolated East Hampton mansion and the motivation for his isolation was nowhere to be found.

 

Lounging in the den in front of the crackling fire, Steve could feel the expanse of time before him. In the moment it had been the right choice, but he was starting to feel a nagging guilt about not knowing the next time he would see Sam again. What would he think happened to him? They’d been inseparable friends since they were teens and Steve couldn’t imagine leaving him to worry.

 

A sharp rap on the door interrupted Steve’s thoughts. A quick glance at a clock told him it was just after 9:00 at night. Odd. No one normally bothered him this late at night. It must be Clint trying to invite him to partake in some weird game.

 

Steve threw open the door, a refusal on his lips, but stopped short at the sight of Bucky. He looked tired. His eyes were sunken, he hadn’t shaved in days, and there was a slump to his shoulders. Even so, he was the best thing Steve had seen in days.

 

“Oh, thank God.” Steve threw his arms around him, clutching him into a tight hug. Steve buried his face in the other man’s neck and breathed in his musky scent. His hair was slightly damp, Bucky must of just showered. Beneath him, Bucky stiffened. Shit. Steve loosened his grip to let him go, but stopped at a tentative grip on Steve’s sweater. Bucky dropped his forehead to Steve’s shoulder and just let himself be held.

 

The night chill prompted Steve to pull the other man gently inside and kick the door shut behind them, not once releasing Bucky from his embrace. It felt good to have him in his arms again after two weeks of worrying with no idea the next time he’d see him.

 

“I missed you.” Steve whispered into Bucky’s neck, prompting a slight shiver.

 

“Oh yea?” Buck lifted his head so his chin was resting on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“What did you miss? My crazy mental problems or my despondent personality?”

 

Steve frowned, pulling back slightly to look Bucky in the eye.

 

“I missed _you_ , you jerk. Why do you talk about yourself like that?” Steve implored.

 

Bucky just shrugged, eyes downcast.

 

“Tell me this honestly, Buck... How are you?”

 

Bucky took a moment before raising his gaze to Steve’s and responding. “I don’t know.” His voice was tight with barely constrained emotion.

 

Well. At least that was honest. Steve really didn’t want to hear another ‘fine.’

 

“Okay… Want a cup of cocoa?”

 

Bucky gave him look as though Steve had gone mad.

 

“What?”

 

Steve released his grip on Bucky to start fixing up some cocoa in the kitchen.

 

“When I was a kid and had a bad day my mother would always make me a cup of cocoa and sit me down and tell me stories to make me laugh. She always believed that saying about laughter being the best medicine.”

 

“So you’re gonna fix my problems with a bit of cocoa and the promise of laughter?” Bucky inquired, skeptical. His arms were crossed protectively across his chest, shoulders tense. He looked ready to run at the slightest provocation.

 

“Of course not.” Steve replied, stirring the chocolate into the steaming milk.

 

“But who doesn’t love a good cup of cocoa?” Steve teased. Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes.

 

Steve poured the drink into two large mugs and handed one to Bucky who grabbed it with shaking hands. Steve frowned slightly. He wanted to ask about it and just what he remembered, but felt it would be better for Bucky to tell him that on his own. He’d stuck around to be Bucky’s friend and he would be the best damn friend he could want.

 

They took a seat on the couch in front of the fire in the den, Bucky tucked into the corner with his legs curled under him.

 

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, but any reason you dropped by?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Fury told me about his talk with you. James was curious to see if it was true.”

 

“James?” Steve asked, taken aback.

 

“Yea… We’ve reached an… I guess you could say arrangement.” Bucky frowned, gaze focused on the fire in front of them. “We’re working on more _open_ communication.”

 

“How is that?”

 

“We aren’t fighting for control. He wants to talk I let him. Vice versa. We don’t shut the other out. He’s actually been surprisingly great with the memories but he’d really like it I forgot again. Can’t say the idea isn’t tempting.” Bucky’s lips twitched bitterly as he curled in on himself, clutching the cup of cocoa to his chest like a lifeline.

 

“Buck…” Steve reached out to the other man, but Bucky recoiled instinctively.

“Buck.” Steve put his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanted to touch you. I’d hoped it would be calming.”

 

“No. No… Ugh, Sorry…” Bucky looked angry with himself. “I just. Ask me first?”

 

Something in Steve twisted unpleasantly. “Sure… I just... You seemed okay with me hugging you earlier.” He tried not to sound bitter that he couldn’t offer casual touches freely. It made sense, really. Steve was just hoping for too much right now.

 

Bucky frowned, shifting in agitation. He seemed to be having some sort of internal debate.

 

“I just… “ He started, hesitantly, “I know you wouldn’t hurt me…. And once I realized what you were doing it was… nice.” A faint blush covered his cheeks as he scratched his neck, embarrassed at his admission.

 

“So what was different just now? So I know for the future?” Steve warmed at the idea that his touch was comforting.

 

“You moved so quickly… I didn’t see your hand till it was nearly on me and I just…” Bucky struggled for the right word. Unable to find it he dropped the cup of cocoa on the coffee table, metal hand running roughly through his growing dark locks and refusing to meet Steve’s gaze.

 

“Okay. That’s okay. I’ll ask from now on.”

 

Buck gave him a grateful look. “Thanks.”

 

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly, “So… Um. In the spirit of taking your mind off things, how do you feel about playing a video game? It always helped distract my friend Sam when he was having some bad flashbacks.”

 

Bucky shrugged, “Whatever. Sure.”

 

Steve gathered the cups and deposited them in the kitchen on the way to the living room. He was so out of his depth. He was scared of doing or saying the wrong thing to upset the tentative balance the other man seemed to have found. 

 

Buck knelt by the Xbox, flipping a bit harsher than strictly necessary through the small stack of games that had been there when Steve had moved in.

 

“Are you sure your okay with a game? We can do something else if you’d like. Whatever you need.” Steve asked soothingly. He reached out to touch Bucky again, before remembering what Bucky had just told him.

 

Bucky shook his head, “No, this is fine. I’m fine.

 

“Okay… Well, there are plenty of other options in that pile if you don’t want a war game. Something that shouldn’t trigger you.” Steve offered helpfully.

 

Buck jumped to his feet, surprising Steve and started pacing, shooting Steve unreadable glances.

 

“Do you need me to leave? Give you your space?” Steve asked, cautiously. He didn’t know how to proceed here. What did he do?

 

At that, Bucky threw his hands up in exasperation, turning to Steve with his hands on his hips, tired eyes glaring at him.

 

“Look, Stevie. I know I’m a little fucked up.” Bucky snapped, morosely. A far cry from the timid, scared man he’d been a moment before. “I think that’s been well established around here. Getting my memories back certainly didn’t help that. If anything it made it worse. But I haven’t lost it in the last couple weeks and I’m not about to loose it now. So could you please hang up the kid gloves and stop treating me like glass before I punch you in that insanely symmetrical face?”

 

Steve blinked, stunned into silence. He was so out of his depth here. He didn’t think he’d been treating him that way. Letting out a strained smile, he nodded. “Noted, Buck. The rest of the night will be free from drama and overbearing concern. Promise.” As much as Steve could, in any case.

 

Bucky gave him a tight but grateful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shook himself a bit, clearing his throat as he refocused his attention on powering up the Xbox.

 

“Now, are we gonna play or what? Just to forewarn you, I will own you.”

Steve watched Bucky warily while his back was turned, careful to keep his face as neutral as possible. He couldn’t begin to know what the other man had remembered and witnessed. For all Bucky’s bluster about not being about to ‘loose it’ the other man was obviously on edge. If this is what he needed, Steve could ignore his own worry and curiosity and give Bucky a night of distraction.

 

They play for nearly two hours, cautiously teasing one another, before they grow bored. There is an awkward moment when they shut down the game where neither is sure how to proceed. Steve doesn’t really want Bucky to leave and if the looks Bucky keeps giving the door, he doesn’t seem to want to leave either.

 

“We can watch a film? Or talk?” Steve offers. Bucky had calmed down a bit in the course of the last two hours, game successfully redirecting his brain on something less traumatic. He was less edgy than before, almost relaxing into the cushions. It was a small victory. 

 

“Film. I don’t want to talk.” Bucky answered quickly. Before Steve could reply, he got up to flip through the films and put one on. Steve watched him carefully when his back was turned. He promised Bucky not to treat him with kid gloves but that was turning out to be harder than it sounded.

 

Bucky headed back towards his spot on the far side of the couch from Steve, film queued up and ready to go. He paused to give Steve a side-glance, mulling something over in his head before grabbing a quilt and walking to where Steve was sitting. Wordlessly and avoiding Steve’s gaze, Bucky sank tentatively into the spot by Steve. Steve didn’t speak, barely breathed as he felt Bucky curl into his side and drape the quilt over the two of them. Through the course of the film his tense body slowly relaxed and he dropped his head on Steve's shoulder. The heat of the other man at his side was distracting and enticing. If he were questioned later, Steve wouldn’t be able to tell you what the film was, only that he now knew what the other man looked like when he dozed off to sleep. He watched over him, smoothing out the creases in Bucky’s forehead when he started dreaming something unpleasant, till Steve himself fell asleep.


	11. Old Enemies, New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James and Steve learn to understand

James wasn’t sure what woke him. If it was the never ending parade of bad dreams or the soft murmuring of the man beneath him. He couldn’t make out the words, but to be frank he didn’t care. Instead, James attempted to recoil from the grip of the man beneath him, but the tight grip on his waist was making any subtle escape impossible. Scowling, James pulled roughly with his metal grip  to pry Steve’s large hands from his waist, no longer caring about subtlety. On some level he recognized that the grip was not meant to be harmful, but he refused to be restrained in any manner.

 

He’d break Rogers’ damn hand if it meant that the other man would release him. It was just like Bucky to cuddle up to the other man for comfort, despite everything. Currently, Bucky was taking a much needed rest, which James was grateful for, but it meant that he was now stuck in his current predicament of being _cuddled._ He could handle the affection when Bucky was driving – James simply left them to their devices in that regard – but when it was him in control the touches were unwelcome. Everything in him rebelled at this man being so casual.

 

The only times James had ever been touched had been to abuse or restrain. Since coming to this house, the former had no longer been a concern, but the latter had become deemed a necessary tactic when he became deemed ‘unstable.’ The affectionate gestures were saved for their friend, Bucky. James had never minded – though one therapist thought she was clever by suggesting James simply didn’t know better. Her dismissal had been particularly satisfying.

 

Natasha had made attempts to befriend James, but she struggled with offering simple physical affection – making the daunting prospect of having to receive and understand such simple friendly gestures thankfully moot. James was forced to admit that until Steve had held his face the other week, James could not recall the last time – if ever – he’d been touched with such… _tenderness._ Yet, even that apparent kind  touch must have been given with a specific purpose. A new tactic in manipulating his decisions. He could trust the reasoning and outcome of being restrained, but this… he had no prepared defense for this. Bucky knew how to navigate this field but James had no training for it.

James was nearly free of the grip, half standing, when Rogers suddenly bucked in his sleep, knocking James off balance and onto Rogers’ lap. He threw his human arm out on reflex, grabbing Roger’s shoulder to brace his fall. The grip he had been nearly free of grew even tighter, pulling him flush against Rogers. The other man was surprisingly strong. James bared his teeth, _Of fucking course._

 James considered for a moment whether or not Bucky would mind waking to this position and letting him take control, but in the end James decided against it. He would allow Bucky to rest from the terror in their head just a bit longer. He would not let him take it from him for good, so James would have to make sure he at least got some respite. For now, he would have to do what he could without greatly harming Rogers. He would never hear the end of it if he did him more damage.

 

It turns out what he could do was punch him in the groin. James thought it had some poetic justice, after Rogers had employed a similar tactic in their fight. The other man jerked awake, short scream on his lips. His grip quickly released James, allowing him to finally retreat away from the couch and from the other man’s scorching touch. A string of curses on his lips, Rogers doubled over. He kept his head between his legs, breathing deeply and glaring mutinously up at James every so often.

 

James kept his face carefully impassive, refusing to let his irritation show. Really though, Rogers should be grateful. A punch to the groin was far less damaging than crushing Rogers’ arm, which had been James’ other choice.

 

“Would you _please_ stop attacking me _every. Damn. Time. We. Meet.”_ Rogers choked out.

 

“Perhaps one day. Yet, on this occasion I didn’t appreciate your insistence on clinging me to your person. As such, this” James gestured to the other man’s hunched form, “was perfectly justified.”

 

“I would argue you about this, but I’m not gonna waste my breath. Ugh.”

 

It took an embarrassing couple of minutes for Rogers to regain his senses. James should have left while the other man was incapacitated, but some odd impulse he couldn’t name kept him rooted in his spot.

 

“Okay…” Rogers stood shakily, walking around to lean forward on the back of the couch. Presumably to get out of direct line of James. “Can we please reach some sort of agreement or understanding where you DON’T attack me on sight? Bucky trusts me, why can’t you?”

 

“Bucky trusts others too easily. It’s one of his unfortunate flaws.” _It’s himself he doesn’t trust._

 

“Right… Nevermind…It’s way to early for this conversation, but..  How do I get _you_ to trust me?” Rogers implored, expression determined. There was no trace of the fear James had grown used to seeing in the other man when James was in the room with him. It was unsettling. James’ ever limited control of the ongoing situation had been strengthened by that fear. He wasn’t sure what ground this put them on.

 

“Look, I kept my word, didn’t I? I haven’t run.”

 

“Yes… but why? I confess I’m surprised to see you. I had you profiled as the kind of guy who talks a good game but runs when he has to follow through.” Rogers rolled his eyes, the brat, but didn’t answer.

 

“Fury killed the story and Bucky hasn’t been to see you before last night. You have no reason for being here.” James had been against his presence from the beginning. He’d tried to get him to leave once he realized Bucky was getting attached but that had not gone to plan. Despite his drive to protect Bucky from being hurt by the damage such attachments could bring, a large part of him would like nothing more than for this man to leave. Despite being irritating, his presence was growing more and more confusing by the day. He was unlike anyone James had met and his profiles of the man kept being disproven daily.

 

Despite what he suggested to Fury, in the end he had not honestly expected the man to remain when there was nothing in it for him. It just didn’t make sense. Everyone did something for something. What could he possibly be getting out of this?

 

“We’ve been over this. _Extensively_. He is my friend, and I want to make sure he’s okay. That’s it. There has never been an ulterior motive. I wanted to make sure you’d be okay too but these greetings are getting me to rethink my stance.”

 

James had to give him credit. He seemed genuine, not a single tell in sight. Yet, James still couldn’t understand it. The others in the home had known Bucky for _years._ Not to mention they had a secondary motive in eliminating Hydra. James understood their motivations. This man? He claimed unfailing attachment to a man he barely knew. In his experience such claims were suspect at best.

 

**_You’re an emotionally stunted, paranoid, ass-hat. You realize this, right?_ **

****

_Bucky. You should be resting._

**_Perhaps, but I’m tired of this. He and I are friends. I don’t fully understand why he’s sticking around either, but HEY – not gonna question one of the few good things I’ve got going on right now. So just… stop._ **

****

He gave Rogers a quick once over, forgoing a response to retreat to the kitchen where he could have a conversation with Bucky in private. 

 

_What would you have me do?_

**_For starters? Stop mauling him, you brute. Also, stop questioning him on his reasons for staying. They aren’t changing. And, I don’t know, maybe try actually talking to the guy?_ **

****

_About what exactly? If I can’t question him on his motivations than there is nothing for us to discuss._

**_You’re the one who keeps saying your not just some crazy protector. So how about you try and pretend you’re a normal fucking person for a minute and talk to him rationally, preferably over some food. Cause I for one am hungry._ **

 

_What exactly is that supposed to solve, Bucky?_

**_For one? I get to eat. Seriously, do you not register that feeling in your stomach means you need to eat? For fucks sake. Anyway, secondly? To put it in you speech: If you want to understand and gain intel it is time to switch tactics and employ a new approach._ **

 

_You wan’t me to learn about him so I will be manipulated to trust him._

**_I want you to have a friend. If this arrangement is going to work, you need someone. Steve is a good man. Trust me._ **

****

And so a few minutes later, a flummoxed Steve wandered in as James was preparing a simple breakfast. The process was made simpler by the new arm which, despite an incessant ache, had been remarkably responsive.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

**_Be nice._ **

“Cooking.” James tried to smile – isn’t that what you do when you’re being nice? Yet, judging by Roger’s slightly terrified expression he was doing it wrong.

 

**_I said ‘be nice’ not completely terrify the fuck out of him._ **

****

“Would you like some?” He pointed to the stack of bacon and carton of eggs, ignoring Bucky.

 

“Um.” Rogers was thrown. Understandable, given their conversation just minutes before. Not to mention James had never been anything resembling nice to the other man before.

 

“Yes… Sure. Thank you.” Rogers took a seat at the table, shooting James curious glances as he worked.

 

James returned to his task, with the intent of ignoring Steve, but was quickly distracted by the way the other man was practically vibrating with curiosity – his mouth forming a multitude of questions he never quite voiced.

 

“Could you refrain from thinking so loudly? It’s distracting.” James expertly flung cracked eggshells into the distant bin. Steve’s expression was begrudgingly impressed.

 

“Sorry, I just… you’re being weird.”

 

“Im actively not trying to hit you. Of course I seem weird. If you would prefer that I stopped….” He trailed off, eyebrow raised.

 

“Nope! No, weird is good. I can definitely work with weird.” James noted with some amusement that Rogers not so subtly crossed his legs.

  
“If your sure… Now, in the spirit of being _‘nice’…_ any questions you have can wait till the food is served. In fact,” James peered at Steve. “If you can keep yourself quiet and not distract me for the ten minutes it will take for me to finish cooking, I’ll make you a deal. After breakfast, you can ask me anything you want, given that you allow me to do the same. I even promise to answer truthfully.” Within reason, of course.

 

_There now. I’m being nice and I can now get some intel to create a more accurate profile on him. We will both get what we want. Happy?_

**_You need so much help, man._ **

****

James frowned. Where did he mess up?

 

“Why?” Rogers questioned, slowly, brow furrowed.  

 

“Because, sometimes when you want to learn something, the direct approach is often the best.”

 

That answer seemed to satisfy the other man. Rogers shuffled off to shower and when he got back, hair damp and black t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, James was already eating his breakfast. His movements were quick and precise. The dexterity of the metal arm was remarkable. Rogers grabbed the cooling plate of food off the counter, took the seat opposite of James and tucked into his own meal, with a great deal less refinement.

 

As promised, Rogers allowed them to eat in silence and waited until dishes had been put away and they had reclaimed spots on either side of the couch in the living room before pouncing with one of his many questions.

 

“Why are you being nice?” Well, straight to the point then.

 

“Bucky likes you and he asked me to be. He suggested we get to know one another.”

 

Rogers raised an eyebrow. “Gonna elaborate?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, this should be a fun conversation.” Rogers stated, irritably.

 

James didn’t care if the conversation was ‘fun’. It was now his turn to ask.

 

“What does Captain America mean to Fury? He didn’t know about that little story about your father, so how did he know the name?”

 

Rogers’ head whipped sharply to face James, face white in shock, before quickly reddening in anger. James had hit a nerve. Good.

****

**_Really, James?_ **

****

_Shut up. Let me handle this._

 

“You know, this whole twenty questions thing we’re supposed to be doing?” His voice was controlled, words sharp. “Its great for when you want to get to know someone but don’t you think you it’s a bit soon to be asking the hardball questions?”

 

“I have no interest in learning your favorite color, Rogers, or the name of your pet. They are not important to creating an accurate profile.”

 

“Accurate profile. Honestly.” Rogers shook his head. He looked ready to leave, but seemed to second guess himself. He instead twisted his body closer to James, who backed further into the edge of the couch instinctively.

 

“Alright. Fine. We’ll do this your way. You want to make a profile of me? I can’t stop you, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll ask you some not completely insensitive questions because I actually do give a shit about the answer.”

 

“Fine.” James didn’t care about being profiled. He’s read his files, he knows what people see him as. Yet, Rogers was once again confusing. What purpose was there in asking him inane questions?

 

“I used it as a codename.” Rogers answered. James waited for an explanation but none was forthcoming.

 

“Can you please elaborate?” He finally inquired, annoyed that he had to ask.

 

“No.” Rogers gave a slight smirk.

 

James should have expected to have his own refusal used against him.

 

“Now, it’s my turn. Hmmm… What do I want to know...” Rogers considered. James prepared himself for an equally poignant question.

 

“Tell me, did you ever have or want a pet?”

 

“Excuse me?” James nearly spluttered.

 

“Did. You. Ever have. Or want a pet?” Rogers repeated slowly.

 

“Why would such an inquiry matter? That information is unnecessary to building a profile.”

 

“Maybe to you, but I’m not building a profile. I’m just curious. This is me trying to learn about you.” Rogers shrugged, calmer now that they’d moved on from the question about his past.

 

**_See? This is the sort of thing you ask people when you’re trying to get to know them._ **

_My questions are important to getting to understand him. His are erroneous facts._

**_So why don’t you want to answer him?_ **

 

James ignored the taunting words. If Rogers wanted to know, fine.

 

“Bucky had a pet bird when he was a boy, but he died of old age some years ago.”

 

“Yes, I know. But you didn’t answer my question. What about you?”

 

James paused. He’d never given it much thought. “I suppose…” Rogers waited patiently. James thought about the various animals he’d seen on the media or been exposed to over the past five years. “A dog. A large one preferably. I’ve never played with one but Bucky likes them and they…. Well, they seem unquestionably loyal.”

 

It was such a stupid question, so why did James feel like he’d let slip something more private and secret than his worst mission.

 

“Good to know.” Rogers gave him a small smile, ignorant of the confusion within James, who kept his expression blank.

 

“Well then. My turn. Do you intend on running off when Bucky is better? Once your conscience is clear?”

 

**_James! Seriously. Can you move on?_ **

****

_I would like to know how far his intent goes. Do not pretend you haven’t wondered the same._

The silence from Bucky served as confirmation.

 

“No.” Rogers’ answer was quick and firm. “I don’t know when I’ll leave. To be honest…” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, “I would stay forever, but I guess at some point I have to live my life too. Besides, I can’t imagine him wanting me to just be an awkward hang around forever.”

 

**_Forever?_ **

 

_He plans on leaving. Don’t get over excited. You should be prepared._

**_Well so do I. One day. I won’t be here forever._** Bucky snapped back at him

 

_He is not wrong about being an, how did he put it, “awkward hang around”._

**_Not to me. Let me talk to him._ **

****

_No!_ James refused to cede control. He was getting his answers.

 

“Don’t tell me you care for him beyond friendship.”

 

“Maybe.” Steve replied, defiantly, blushing faintly. “What’s it to you?”

 

What’s it to him? Seriously? James glowered. It was his body too.

 

Well, he may not yet have the whole story, but at least this admission made sense. He understood from film and watching Coulson and Barton interact that people with deep feelings for others were said to be inclined to do extreme things to be together.

 

**_Please. Let me talk to him._ **

****

_Bucky, I will not._

**_I get you don’t like him, but can’t you just close your proverbial eyes or something?_ **

****

_That has nothing to do with it. You just got your memories back. You are latching on to him in your confusion and I still don’t trust that he won’t manipulate your pain to keep you. Not to mention, Grayson._

**_Wow. Fuck you._ **

****

Proof that he had a heart, James felt bad about bringing up that particular ghost.

 

_Bucky…_

**_I’m not a child. I know what I feel about him. I’m not ‘confusing’ it with him just being a good man and available. Not to mention, you should cool it with the paranoia. He’s not trying to entrap me._ **

****

James was probably stretching it on that, he would admit. 

 

“Um. Is Bucky listening to this?” Rogers questioned, eyes wide, when James hadn’t responded for several minutes.

****

**_Yes!!!! Asshole, let me talk to him._ **

****

“No.” James answered. Rogers seemed relieved.

 

_Fine, maybe I am paranoid. You’re still not ready. Feelings or not, you should focus on getting yourself better. More than that, Grayson’s death might have happened years ago but for you it was just a matter of weeks. You’re not ready. I’m sorry._

And he was. It wasn’t a familiar feeling for him, but he was.

 

**_Last night… I was able to forget for awhile. I actually had some decent sleep before the dreams came. Let me have that._ **

****

_I’m sorry._ James repeated _I want you to forget more than anyone, but relying on him as a friend is one thing. Trying to replace what you lost before you’ve dealt with it? I can’t let you do that._

**_I’m not replacing Grayson!_ **

****

_Yet are you sure you’re over him? Can you handle getting into another relationship knowing what you’re capable of?_

**_You…Heh. Go to hell._ **

****

_Bucky…_

No response.

 

_Bucky?_

He reached for him, but Bucky had shut himself away. James felt his chest tighten and stomach flip uncomfortably.

 

He pushed his concern away to focus on Rogers, he would speak to Bucky later. For now, he would take advantage of Rogers’ willingness to answer his questions.

 

“I believe it is your question, Rogers.”

 

“Really, You don’t want to grill me on my intentions? I thought that was a favorite pastime of yours.” Rogers jibbed.

 

James couldn’t help the upward quirk of his lips. It was a fair criticism.

 

“Just ask me your question, before I change my mind about this conversation.”

 

Rogers took a minute to consider his question, picking absently at the quilt that had been thrown on the ground in their altercation earlier that morning.

 

“I want to ask you another random question. Favorite food, movie, what not, but I just want to know one thing first, if you’re willing to tell me.”

 

“What..” James drawled, a bit wary.

 

“What happened to Bucky that required you to exist?”

 

“Haven’t we told you this before?” James responded, evasively.

 

“You all have told me something happened to him while he was a POW and his mind spliced, but, if you’re willing to tell me, I want to know what it was.”

 

James considered telling him the truth, the whole truth, but couldn’t. Bucky was pissed enough.

 

“There was a group. They experimented on us and the rest of the unit. They took Bucky’s identity from him and tried to morph him into something else. Under their programing they tried to make him, and later me, something less than human. Just an obedient beast whose only point was to fulfill their desires. One day, they tested him and their desires were more than Bucky could handle. He couldn’t stop himself from doing what they asked and locked himself and the rest of his humanity away. I’ve never stopped protecting that part of him.  It was easier, for me to do what they asked. I didn’t have anything but my missions. Nothing to question.”He reported, tonelessly.

 

“I don’t believe that.” Rogers had gotten closer.

 

James bristled. “I am not lying.” He just barely stopped himself from baring his teeth.

 

“No, that’s.. ugh.. that’s not what I meant. I meant, you’re not nothing. You’re not Bucky, but you are someone. And you are a lot more human than you claim, or seem to let yourself believe.”

 

For once, the earnestness in Rogers’ expression didn’t immediately grate on James. He found himself wanting to believe what the other man was saying.

 

“Look, Rogers…”

 

“Steve.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Please call me Steve. Stop trying to distance yourself from me by calling me Rogers. I’m trying to be your friend, and friends call each other by their name. So, call me Steve.”

 

James blinked slowly, unsure what to say. They weren’t friends. Yet, why was that so hard for him to say?

 

“Let’s not pretend were friends, Rogers.”

 

Rogers frowned, giving a great impression of a kicked puppy. “Maybe not yet, but we could be.”

 

James doubted that, but stranger things had happened.

 

“My question?” James asked, wanting the moment to be over.

 

Rogers sighed and shook his head. “No, I’ll tell you what you wanted to know, earlier. You told me about Iraq, I can give you this. Consider it a token of friendship.”

 

James leaned forward, curious.

 

“My mother died when I was seventeen.”

 

This wasn’t the start James had been expecting.

 

“She never got over my father’s death and dove herself into work and looking after me. At the time I was tiny and sickly.” James gave him a dubious look, which Rogers huffed a laugh at. “I know, I know. I have pictures if you don’t believe me. Anyway, she ran herself thin and kept getting sick herself. One day she just never got better.” Rogers words were choked. James wanted him to get to the point. He didn’t want to listen to this. It made something in him twist and he didn’t like that feeling.

 

“When she died, I was too young to live by myself and was about to become a ward of the state. I was a rebellious, angry kid, who just lost his last parent and I just wanted to run away for a bit. I found a group of kids who ran together in Brooklyn. They took me in and, through a series of unfortunate events, I became something of a leader to them. Then some of the kids from the other gangs started going missing, people started turning up dead, lots of crazy shit was going down.”

 

“What does this have to do with Captain America?” James interjected.

 

“I’m getting there. Anyway, I was worried about my friends so I looked into it all and figured out there was a pattern. I’ll spare you the details but all the crazy shit happening in our neighborhood seemed to be the actions of one organization. I was a dumb kid who hated injustice, with dead parents, with nothing to loose and I just met the biggest bully of them all.” Rogers laughed disparagingly, like he couldn’t believe himself. “I made it my mission to take them down. Me, a scrawny kid who had barely started learning how to defend himself. I became a vigilante using the nickname my father gave me. I was no military captain, but I could protect my home just the same.”

 

So he really was a good guy. Interesting. “Why did you give it up? You flinch at the mention of it now.”

 

“I messed up.” Rogers confessed, eyes fixed on his clenched hands. “The head of the organization took a couple kids from my group as punishment for my hindering their work. I went in alone, not wanting anyone else to get involved. But when I got there the room was empty, except for a laptop in the middle of the room. I was so confused. On the screen there was a live feed of the loft my friends were holed up in that week and a post-it saying ‘catch me if you can.’ It was so cliché but I ran as fast as my asthmatic lungs would let me to warn them. I was too late.” Rogers swallowed thickly, as James let the insinuation sunk in. My God.

 

“They all..” James started, but stopped. He couldn’t finish that sentence. From the beginning, he couldn’t stomach the idea of killing kids.

 

“Not all of them.” Steve answered, “but enough. In my rage, I went a little nuts. Took out the three guys who’d done it with a iron rod. I was just pounding in the face of the leader when my friend, Sam, pulled me off of him. We ran before the cops showed. After that… I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend to be some leader or hero to the kids that were left. An old friend came back into my life with a job prospect and Sam and I left and never looked back.”

 

James had wanted to understand. He’d said he didn’t trust people who pretended they didn’t have a dark side. Knowing the darkness in others helped James understand them. Understand their motivations. He understood now.

 

“You still think you’re the only one with ghosts they’re running from?” Rogers asked bitterly.

 

“What was the name of the organization?” James asked, voice dark and angry. Not for Rogers, though he felt somewhat ashamed at stirring such memories, but for those kids.

 

Rogers met his gaze, eyes bright with old hatred and tears he had never shed.

 

“Hydra.”

 

Well… Fuck.

* * *

 

Their conversation didn’t last too much longer after Rogers’ revelation. James hadn’t had it in him just then to pretend ignorance. Even now, James still wasn’t sure if he should tell the others what Rogers told him. Bucky had kept to himself for the last few days, giving James ample control and opportunity to look into Rogers’ story. It checked out. Every report gave James more and more desperation to destroy Hydra. Not just for himself, but for every other soul they destroyed.

 

After leaving the east wing for the day, James was heading towards the stairs to his room when he heard Rogers call him into the living area. Coulson was talking to Stark off in the corner while Clint, who seemed to still be studiously pretending Stark didn’t exist, was talking to Natasha on the couch and periodically shouting things back to Coulson. Fury was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, Rogers was holding a fairly large box poked with holes. James approached the group warily. There hadn’t been so many of them in the same room together in weeks and the box was suspicious.

 

“What do you need?”

 

“Nothing.” Rogers placed the box on the table between them and waved him over. “I’ve got something for you. Phil picked it up for me. Think of it as another token of friendship and thank you for how you handled everything the other day.”

 

If by handled, Rogers means didn’t say anything. James still eyed the box warily. It was hard to say what Rogers was giving him, though the others looked anxious and mildly intrigued by his potential response.

 

James pulled the lid off the box to look down on a fluffy, white puppy with almond shaped eyes. It hopped out of the box at the sight of him and bounded up to him, tail wagging, and pawing at his metal arm in interest.

 

“What?” James was confused.

 

“It’s a Kuvasz. He’s only a few weeks old. They get quite large and are extremely loyal, smart and protective dogs. I know you don’t think of me as a friend quite yet, but I thought you should have someone that’s all yours. Who you can trust.”

 

James pulled the lively pup into his arms. It licked his face in greeting. The others looked like they wanted to laugh. James glowered at them, but that only succeeded in them doubling over.

 

James ignored them. He wasn’t sure what to do with a pet but…. He could get behind this.

 

“What are you going to name him?” Rogers wasn’t laughing, which was raising  him even higher  in James’ books.

 

He barely thought about it before naming him “Thorin.”

 

Rogers looked surprised, “I didn’t think you’d know that book.”

 

“Who doesn’t?” James asked, aghast.

 

Rogers’ small smile widened.

 

The puppy in James’ arms licked his face again, pawing at him for attention. It must have been a sight. An ex-assassin awkwardly holding a white, energetic ball of fur. Yet James found he didn’t completely mind the intrusion of his space or the touch of this animal as he minded the touch of the others.

 

“Thank you…. Steve.”

 

Steve, cause it was definitely Steve now, grinned, a full smile that showed off straight, white teeth.

 

“I may yet finally see what it is that endears you to Bucky.” James is uncomfortable at the notion. He’s never been allowed to want anything beyond revenge, success on his missions and keeping Bucky safe. He’s never wanted anything more. But looking between Steve and the animal in his arms, he was finding himself wanting more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: I was going to end this chapter at the end of their conversation but I thought they could use a fluffy interlude. 
> 
> A/N 2: Regarding the communication between Bucky and James. I read that communication between two alters that are present at the same time can happen through thoughts so that's what i'm going with here. 
> 
> A/N 3: James' new puppy breed is totally adorable BTW
> 
> http://www.gibdogpetsuppliesblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/biggie_kuvasz_10_jpg_w450.jpg
> 
>  
> 
> 10/30: HI! Im so sorry its taken so long for me to update the next chapter. Things have been a bit crazy around here and I've only had time to write about 1/5 of it. I'll try and get some done this weekend around all the Holloween stuff going on.


	12. Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky learns a lesson about how to be happy.

“Come on Rogers! Look alive.” Barton jabbed lightly at Steve, who was breathing heavily.

 

“How much longer do we have to keep doing this?” Steve weaved out of the way of Clint’s next jab.

 

“Until you can keep me from throwing you. Do that and we’ll call it a day, for now.” Steve groaned in frustration, but threw himself into the training. His form was vastly improving in the short weeks since Barton had taken it upon himself to train Steve.

 

Absently stroking a sleepy Thorin’s fur, James couldn’t help calculating Steve’s potential usefulness in a skirmish with Hydra. It was mostly just a reflex. He wouldn’t dare get Steve involved in their battle with Hydra, even if he had just as much reason as the rest of them to see them ruined. No, as far as Steve knew, he’d helped bring them down. James and the others could take care of the rest. Still, James was curious how many of those in this house knew about the man’s secret.

 

“He’s getting pretty good.” Stark said, taking a seat in one of the chairs on the porch beside James.

 

James frowned slightly at the man’s presence. “Can I help you?”

 

Stark rolled his eyes. “You’re a ray of sunshine. Straight to the point, as always. I need to talk to my nephew. It’s important.”

 

James narrowed his eyes. Stark was nervous about something. He must be planning to leave again. Figures. He knew Stark thought he didn’t like him, but the truth was James simply didn’t like how easy it was for the man to swarm in and out of Bucky’s life, despite claiming deep fondness for him.

 

“How long are you going to be gone this time, Stark.” James inquired pointedly. No point in pretending ignorance.

 

Stark sighed, standing to lean against the rail.

 

“Look, I’m coming back soon. I just. Look, I’d rather explain this to him directly.”

 

James considered not letting the man say his piece – it would serve Stark right - but Bucky should be able to say goodbye. Who knows how long it would be before he got to see Stark again.

 

“Fine.” James barely registered the look of gratitude on Starks face before he handed control over to Bucky. He would give them some privacy.

 

“Jamie…?” Tony’s voice washed over him. Bucky never got used to this. Like he was waking from a waking dream. On his lap, Thorin gave a short bark. He seemed oddly in tune with the switches between James and Bucky. He seemed to favor James but was happy enough with Bucky, who gave him a calming scratch behind the ears.

 

“Hey Uncle Tony. So, you’re leaving again?” Bucky tried to hide his frustration. He understood his uncle had responsibilities that kept him from being around very often and couldn’t stay indefinitely. It still didn’t make saying goodbye any easier or the months in between visits any better.

 

“Yea…” To his credit, Tony did look sincerely apologetic. “Listen…”

 

Whatever Tony was about to say was interrupted by a surprised yelp. Bucky and Tony turned their heads to where Steve was staring down triumphantly at a baffled Clint, who was splayed out flat on his back. Off to the side, Phil was failing to hide a laugh behind his hands.

 

“Well, what do you know?” Tony chuckled, “Kid’s got some bite to him.”

 

Steve was in the middle of doing a dorky victory dance when Clint regained his senses and tackled Steve. The two grappled good-naturedly, laughing and making jibes.

 

Bucky smiled, softly. It was nice to see Steve getting along so well with his friends. A jealous part of him wished that he could laugh and joke so freely with him without worrying about snapping. Ever since the other day, when he’d spent the night and everything that he learned the morning after, he’d been questioning James’ warning about seeking out a relationship with the other man.

 

He knew he couldn’t afford to hope, but he found himself doing it anyway. Hoping that he would move past his darkness and hoping he could keep Steve. He wouldn’t admit it to himself just a few weeks ago, but now he could say with a surety that he truly did care for Steve. Yet, James wasn’t wrong. Grayson hung like a heavy weight in the air.

 

How did someone move past something like that?

 

The guilt he felt over Grayson, over the sea of faces of those he’d killed, everything James had been forced to do…. it clawed at him with every breath. The memories of war he found he could handle. The triggers could be managed with time. Hell, even the abuse seemed secondary to that clawing guilt. Even so, how could Steve Rogers ever really love a man as broken and damned as he was? And if he could… could Bucky ever love him the way he deserves? Was he still capable?

 

“Jamie?” Tony crouched down to look Bucky in the eye, startling him out of his dark reverie. Thorin stood to lick Bucky’s face, prompting a small, startled, smile to Bucky’s lips.

 

“I’m fine, Uncle Tony. What did you want to tell me?”

 

Tony didn’t look terribly convinced, brows furrowed in concern, but he didn’t push the matter.

 

“Listen, about me leaving….” The others yet again interrupted Tony. He huffed, annoyed.

 

“Maybe we should take this inside?” Tony asked, standing. Bucky shrugged, placing a squirming Thorin on the ground and following his uncle into the house. Thorin followed behind him like a shadow. It was almost comforting.

 

They wandered through the house in silence before Tony suddenly stopped in front of the ballroom. It was dank and dusty, having been unused in many years. Everything inside covered in white sheets. Yet, for some reason, Tony made a beeline for the heavy curtains, pulling them back to let in the faint light. Bucky watched him curiously from the doorway as Tony continued to flit about, muttering to himself.

 

“Um. Tony?” Bucky rose a questioning brow at his uncle’s behavior.

 

Tony dropped the sheet he was holding, taking a seat on the chair he’d just uncovered.

 

“My bad, got distracted. Look kid, I want to start out by saying I’m sorry.”

 

“Say what now?” Bucky nearly fell over in surprise. Getting a direct apology out of Tony Stark was nearly impossible. He liked to show his apologies in extravagant gifts no matter how much of an ass he might have been. Just ask Clint and his flashy new bike.

 

“Don’t make me say it again.” Tony scowled. “Listen, I’m leaving but I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

 

“Look. You have a company to run. I’m not an idiot. I knew you couldn’t stick around forever.” Bucky responded dismissively, trying not to think about how long it would actually be before he saw the other man again. A few weeks always turned into a few months, with barely a word in between visits.

 

Tony flinched. “Still… I know how much you hate me being gone so often. I’ll try to be better, I promise. But… to be honest… after what I’m about to tell you, you might not want me to come back.” 

 

Tony shifted uncomfortably under Bucky’s questioning gaze, refusing to look him in the eye.

 

“Uncle Tony… I’m not about to kick you out of my life. There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me do that.” Bucky dragged a chair over to Tony, taking a seat and trying to meet the fleeting gaze. “Just tell me, man. It’s not like you can make my situation any worse.”

 

Tony huffed a sardonic laugh, rubbing his face with his hands before finally meeting Bucky’s gaze. His expression was determined, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes that made Bucky wary.

 

“I’ve been lying to you.” Tony confessed, voice tight and strained. Bucky frowned, body suddenly tense. “About what, Tony?”

 

Tony swallowed thickly before continuing, “Every time I left. Before. Being gone for months on end. It wasn’t because of work. God knows I could run that company from Antarctica if I had to.”

 

“What… what are you talking about?” Bucky leaned back, moving himself further from Tony.

 

“I leave so much because I can’t handle seeing you like this.” Tony spoke the words as if they were being forcibly dragged from him.

 

Bucky froze; it felt like his heart just dropped into his stomach. 

 

“I… “ He swallowed thickly, hurt. “I see. Well. I’d hate to be a bother. Please, don’t feel like you need to come back for my sake. Wouldn’t want to make you do anything you don’t want.” Figures. He really should have seen this coming.

 

“No! You don’t see. Shit…. Look. I’m not explaining this very well.” Tony groaned. They sat in silence for a moment as Tony regained himself.

 

“I can’t handle seeing you like this because what happened to you is my fault and watching you suffer through this is breaking my heart, kid.”

 

“Tony.” Bucky shook his head in disbelief, suddenly angry. “You’re not seriously gonna try and blame yourself for something you had no control over. What happened wasn’t your fault. If you don’t want to stick around than at least be man enough to just say that instead of spinning some story about it all being your fault. Cause it’s not. It’s Hydras. And it’s mine.”

 

“No. It’s not.” Tony argued with such conviction and sincerity it gave Bucky pause. “You deserve the truth.”

 

“Yea? And what’s the ‘truth’”

 

“You remember the serum that Hydra used on you in their experiments?” Tony asked, voice soft.

 

Bucky nodded slowly in response. He didn’t know if he wanted to know where this was going.

 

“It was the result of secret project your father and I collaborated on for the military. It was deemed too volatile and so the project was scrapped, but not before it seems the serum got leaked. We made the serum they used on you, kid.”

 

Bucky’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t possible.

 

“Every time I see you, I remember it’s _my fault_. That’s why I’m gone so much. It’s hard to watch what we did to you. I’ve been a coward, and I’m sorry. I’m going to make this right. That’s why I have to go away for a few weeks. I’ve been sitting on the sidelines for too long, not fighting for you and that’s about to change.” Tony leaned forward, earnest, eyes glistening.

 

Bucky couldn’t make his voice work. He was just numb, trying to process.

 

“You’ve got everyone here gearing up to take down everyone in Hydra who wants you back. I know you know that, despite how much they try to keep from you. It’s past time I do my part to help fight them for you too. You’ll get better and when you do you deserve a chance to return to the world. I need…”

 

“Fuck you.” Bucky muttered, cutting off whatever Tony was about to say. He didn’t want to hear it.

 

“Jamie…”

 

“Don’t _call_ me that!” Bucky snapped, voice shaky. “You don’t get to call me that right now.” Tony flinched. Good, Bucky thought viciously. “You were right. I don’t want you to come back.”

 

“Jam – Bucky. Please, just listen to me. You need to listen to me.” Tony pleaded.

 

Bucky glared. “I don’t _need_ to do anything for you right now. I sure as hell don’t _need_ you or anyone else fighting my battles for me, but I guess I can’t really stop you all. What I _do_ _need”_ Bucky hissed, “is for the man who created a disgusting serum that ruined me, the others in my unit, and who the fuck knows who else to get the hell out of my house.”

 

“Bucky...” Tony reached for him frantically, but Bucky flinched away from him, standing shakily from his seat. He needed to get out of here. He needed to think. Thorin whined unhappily from the doorway as he approached, but Bucky ignored him.

 

“Please don’t do this.”

 

A sharp grip on his good arm stalled Bucky’s escape. Before he could stop it, instinct kicked in and Bucky heard the crunch of bone as his metal arm made contact with Tony’s jaw, knocking the other man to the ground.

 

Bucky stared, aghast at his actions, at his uncle crumpled in shock and pain on the floor. The surge of anger left him, leaving Bucky feeling drained. His eyes were wet and vision blurry. He needed to get out of here. He felt James stirring but pushed him down. He wouldn’t run from this.  He looked at Tony for what might be the last time before Bucky turned on his heel and strode out, pretending not to hear the pleading words begging him to listen. He just needed to think.  
  


* * *

  
The next day, Natasha finds him sitting at the water’s edge at sundown with a bottle of whiskey. At least he’d had the sense to wear a coat and scarf. The fall air grew colder by the day. He took a long pull of the bottle, ignoring Natasha’s approach.

 

“Where’s Thorin?” She asked, taking a seat beside him.

 

“Who the fuck knows. I left him at the house. I’m sure Clint and Steve can keep him occupied.” Bucky responded, voice slurred.

 

Natasha frowned. Bucky had made a point of not drinking in the last three years. After spending the first two years of his return borderline alcoholic, the others had been relieved when Bucky made the choice to let them help him find other means of coping.

 

“Want to talk about it?” She gestured to the bottle. Bucky rolled his eyes, taking another long pull.

 

“You all just want me talk. Talk, talk, talk. Fuck talking. I just wanna drink.” He shook the half empty bottle in her face. “So either catch up or go away.”

 

She weighed her options before taking the bottle from him. Better to pretend drunkenness and maybe get to the bottom of this than leave Bucky to possibly drown himself in the ocean. The liquid burned as it went down.

 

She grimaced, handing it back to the smirking man. They traded drinks for the next half hour, watching the sun sink away into the night.

 

“Did you know?” The question came out of nowhere.

 

“Did I know what?” Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. So much for not wanting to talk.

 

Bucky scowled, “Did you know that Tony and my father made the drug that turned me into this?” He gestured wildly with his hands.

 

Ah. So he finally found out. Natasha was torn between being grateful that Stark was no longer being a coward and the mess this news could do to one of the best relationships her friend had had in his life, not to mention the memory of his father – which was damaged enough.

 

“Did I know that they’d made a drug that never made it past the trial stages before being shut down? Yes. Did I know that that same drug was somehow stolen and tested by Hydra on soldiers? Yes. I knew.” Natasha answered.

 

Bucky snarled at her. “You couldn’t have fucking _told_ me? I thought we were friends. Or was I wrong about that too?”

 

Natasha sighed and took the bottle out of his shaking hands, refusing to cower under his glare.

 

“Stop being a drama queen. I didn’t tell you, because it wasn’t my place. It was his. Frankly its past time he fessed up.”

 

“And I’m just supposed to be okay with this?” He snapped.

 

“No. I get why you’re mad. I do. But maybe you should stop and consider that he never intended for this drug to be used. Least of all on you. He scrapped it for a reason. He would never willingly hurt you like this, Buck.” She tucked his growing hair behind his ear, and gave him a tender squeeze on his shoulder. He flinched slightly at the impact but quickly relaxed. She was never good at giving physical affection like this. Yet, despite never having received much of it herself growing up, she gave what she was able when she was needed.

 

Bucky sighed, making grabbing motions for the bottle. She responded by downing the last few swallows and tossing it behind her. She smirked teasingly at her scowling friend, trying to hide the worry she was feeling.

 

“Yea well, I guess if I’m honest… I wish I didn’t know.” Bucky muttered after a few more moments of silence, clenching his hands in the fabric of his jeans.

 

“Why? So you didn’t have to loose him?” Bucky shrugged awkwardly in response.

 

“You’re only going to loose him if you let him go.” She chided, gently.

 

Bucky shook his head, frowning. “You don’t get it, I feel like I lost him the second I realized he was capable of making something that would do this to people. Then lied to me about it and made me feel like I wasn’t worth sticking around for more than a couple weeks at a time every eight months for the last five years.”

 

Natasha smacked him on the back of the head, prompting a dirty glare and slew of words no lady should ever hear. If they weren’t such good friends…. My goodness.

 

“Grow up, Buck.” Natasha chastised. “You’re pissed at him. I get it. You can be pissed. But don’t start with another self-pity party and writing him off just because his work was used for something he didn’t ask for or condone. That’s ridiculous. If you did that, you’d have to write all of us off, including yourself.”

 

“That’s not the same thing and you know it, Nat.” He snapped.

 

“Maybe not.” She conceded. “But it’s not as different as you’d like to think. We’ve both done things that we don’t feel we deserve forgiveness for; things that any normal person would take us down for. Your father and Tony just made a mistake, and it’s been killing him that it hurt you. Tony loves you. You’re one of the only people he gives a damn about. So how about I let you be pissed for a minute and then you can grow up and let him make up for it.”

 

“I…I don’t know if it’s that simple. It didn’t just hurt me.” Bucky’s expression turned somber. “I… I need to tell you something. Something I remembered.”

  
Natasha made a questioning sound, prompting him to continue. Bucky hadn’t let slip anything he remembered in the last few weeks since he’d remembered. Maybe this was a sign he was ready to let them in. Ready to move on.

 

“I was in love. Or at least, I think I was.” Bucky frowned. “He was in my unit. He was my escape from everything. We once even talked about a future together after the war.” He sniffled, eyes shining.

 

“Grayson.” Natasha whispered, heart clenching.

 

Bucky snorted, bitterly. “Of course you knew about him. Yet another thing you kept from me.”

 

“I didn’t know.” Natasha quickly corrected. “I just always wondered if there was something between you two while we were over there. I could never be sure.”

 

“Yea, well. We were together. It was just supposed to be a release. Something to distract ourselves from the war, but somehow it became something more.” Bucky’s lips twitched up in a sad smile.

 

“What happened?” Natasha prompted.

 

“I killed him. That drug made me comply to Hydra so I killed him.” He said it so matter of factly. As if he hadn’t just ripped the air out the sky, making it hard to breathe. “Then James was born cause I couldn’t handle killing him.”

 

“Bucky.” Natasha whispered, placing a gloved hand on his trembling one. They’d all speculated what caused the fracture, but they had never suspected…

 

“I didn’t even remember him until James let me. So now I remember what I felt for him combined with the guilt of killing him. It claws at me, knowing what I’m capable of. Now I know that I did what I did because of that drug my _own fucking father and uncle_ made.” Tears streaked down his face. Natasha clenched his hands harder.

 

“I guess that’s the real reason why I don’t know how to forgive him.” Bucky confessed, voice hoarse with emotion. “I get what your saying. I do. But now every time I think of him I’m just gonna think of Grayson. It might not logically be anyone’s fault but Hydra, but that doesn’t change how I’m feeling.”

 

Natasha had no words. Her friend looked so fragile; shaking and drunk, tears streaking down his face. She wrapped an arm tentatively around his shoulders and let him bury his face in her neck as he calmed himself. She could do this for him.

 

They sat like that till the sun finally went down and the stars had come out. Bucky had been silent for a long while and Natasha pushed him back to look him in the eye. He seemed distressed, stray tears drying on his cheeks.

 

“I need a distraction.” He begged, quietly. It was her only warning before he fell forward to brush a soft kiss on her lips. Frozen in shock, she barely registered the potent smell the alcohol left on his breath. When she didn’t pull back, Bucky attempted to deepen the kiss, grabbing the back of her neck with his metal hand.

 

The feeling of freezing metal against her skin jolted her out of her shocked state enough to push Bucky away. He whined, leaning forward to kiss her again, but Natasha pushed him back, rougher.

 

“No.” Bucky’s eyes blinked, unfocused. He frowned in confusion.

 

“Why?” He slurred. “It’s not like it’d be the first time we distracted ourselves. Besides, it’s always good.” He gave her a forced, teasing grin, leaning in to try another kiss.

 

Natasha simply shoved him back again, ignoring the irritated whine. She’d forgotten what he was like when he drank. First he was goofy, then he was emotional and angry, and then he just wanted to screw whoever was lying about. It was his go to coping technique years ago.

 

“Bucky, you’re drunk and upset. We’re not doing this. You’ll only regret it in the morning.”

 

“Don’t worry, Nat. I’ll be fine. I promise.” But his grin was too wide and false.

 

He wasn’t fine - he never was anymore, but maybe one day. 

 

“I don’t sleep with people who are in love with someone else.” Low blow, Nat, but she needed him to think about what he was doing before he fucked up the few good things he had left.

 

Bucky snarled, “Grayson’s dead, remember.”

 

“I don’t mean Grayson.” Natasha responded, gently.

 

Bucky’s expression closed off, “I know you’re not talking about Steve.”

 

“Who the fuck else would I be talking about?” Natasha rolled her eyes, hiding her worry.

 

“I’m not in _love_ with him and we’re not together. There is nothing there to ruin.”

 

“Bullshit.” Natasha snorted. “I see a lot more than some of the others, remember? He is like a lovesick puppy with you. Not to mention your obvious infatuation for him. He might not realize it just yet, but that’s just because he doesn’t know you half as well as the rest of us.”

 

Bucky growled. “You’re really gonna choose now to try and set me up with someone? After everything we’ve just been talking about and the fact that I’m trying to sleep with you right now?”

 

“Yes.” She responded simply.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because,” she sighed, “the only reason you won’t go after him and the only reason you’re trying, _and failing_ , to sleep with me is because you hate yourself and don’t think you’re good enough.” She knew she was being harsh, but sometimes being straightforward was the best option. “At least now I understand a little bit more about why.”

 

“He’s too good for this life Nat. I know all about his past – which I’m sure you do too - but he’s no monster. He says he wants to stick around, and I almost believe him… but what kind of person would I be if I tried to shackle someone like him to someone as damaged and fucked in the head as me forever?”  

 

“You’re self-pity is debilitating, Bucky.” Natasha was getting frustrated. “Being with Steve is something you want and I don’t want you denying yourself something that would help you be happy because you feel like a monster.”

 

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest, but Natasha barreled over him. This had gone on for too long.

 

“Steve is his own damn person, who can make his own damn choices. He knows what he’s getting into. So show him some damn respect and let him make his choice.” 

 

“Nat…”

 

“I understand feeling like a monster amongst heroes,” She interjected, “but I learned a long time ago that I don’t need to be one to be happy. And in my own way, I am.”

 

Bucky didn’t look convinced.

 

“I really am, Buck.” She assured him, with a gentle smile. “Listen to me. It wasn’t easy. It won’t be easy for you either, but I’ve wasted enough time waiting for you to help yourself.” Five years, in fact. “I had to make a conscious choice to be the person I wanted to be. To take the things I wanted when they came to me.”

 

“And what about Grayson? Am I just supposed to pretend that’s not an issue?” He narrowed his eyes, challengingly.

 

“Of course not. I wish I could tell you otherwise, Buck, but the guilt and the darkness never really go away, but you _will_ wake up one day and the burden won’t be so severe and you _will be_ happy. Content.” It took her years to get there, but she is honestly content with her life. Natasha is finally working for a cause she believes in and finally has people in her life she can trust and rely on. It’s more than she’d ever hoped for and she wants Bucky to _finally_ realize he can have that too.

 

“So you really think its that simple? Fake it till I make it, basically?” He raised a mocking brow.

 

Natasha shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it doesn’t work, but it’s better than self-pity. We can handle the triggers and the nightmares. The rest is up to you. So tell me. What do you want? Don’t tell me what you think you deserve. Tell me what you _want._ ”

 

Bucky sighed. Natasha can see she’s breaking him down. “I want to feel normal. I want to go to school. I want Hydra to stop coming after me, yes I know about that.” He shot Natasha a pointed glance. “I want to not be angry with Tony or my father… or even myself. I want….” He paused, biting his lip. “I want the chance to see if I can love him; if he can love me. That’s… that’s what I want.” He smiled sadly.

 

Natasha breathed an inward sigh of relief.

 

“Then go after what you want. The rest of us are here for you. And hey,” She smirked. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll break his neck.” Bucky laughs, surprised. “But at least you tried to be happy.” Natasha continued. “Which is more than you’re doing right now.”

 

“I understand.”

 

Natasha raises a brow at him, prompting a soft laugh. “I do, really. Thank you. I needed someone to kick my ass into gear, I guess. I’ll try.”

 

“Do or do not. There is no try.” Natasha retorted, with as straight a face as she could manage.

 

Bucky shoved her lightly, rolling his eyes.

 

“But really, Buck?” He hummed questioningly, flitting his gaze back to her. “If you’re gonna start taking charge of your life, might I suggest you take a shower. It’s great to see you’re sobering up, but you fucking reek.”

 

Bucky frowned, giving himself a sniff, before recoiling. “Duly noted.”

 

Natasha laughed at his expression. The road to recovery is a long road, and there would be a lot more detours, but when she looked at Bucky, she felt confident they were nearing the end. He’d get there if it killed her.

 

* * *

 

Natasha was an amazing cook, Steve thought absently, winding his way down the corridors to make his way back home. He was so deep in thought about the late dinner, and how much he was looking forward to resting his sore muscles that he almost missed it. A soft melody.  
  


Curious, Steve followed the sound to the ballroom, where he noticed someone had moved some of the white sheets and pulled back the curtains. In the corner he spotted a baby grand, where a freshly showered, damp haired Bucky was playing a song he wasn’t familiar with. He froze; entranced by the way Bucky’s fingers were flitting across the keys, creating a beautiful melody. His new prosthetic was keeping up well, Steve noted. His bare feet pressing down every so often on the pedals.

 

Steve had no idea how long he’d been watching, when Bucky stumbled on a few notes. He pushed away from the piano, frowning deeply, and muttering under his breath. He looked around, wearily, startled when he noticed Steve hovering by the doorway.

 

“Hi...” Steve waved, awkwardly, feeling suddenly like he’d just intruded on an intensely private moment.

 

“Hey…” Bucky’s voice was rough. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I heard the music and I just had to check it out.” Steve walked towards him, feeling awkward standing in the doorway. He’d already intruded, so he might as well play this out.

 

“You played beautifully, Buck. Who was the composer? I didn’t recognize it.”

 

“Um… Me… actually.” Bucky flushed, rubbing the back of his neck in the way he did when he was anxious.

 

“Wow. That’s amazing.” Steve reached the side of the piano, an arm reach from Bucky. He had barely seen the guy in the past couple weeks since he’d spent the night on Steve’s couch. He looked… lighter, somehow. Less distressed.

 

“I didn’t realize you played.”

 

“My whole life. Not so much since…” Bucky gestured to his metal arm.

 

“It seems to be holding up fairly well.” Steve leaned against the piano. “Play me something?”

 

Bucky grimaced, shaking his head. “I haven’t practiced in years. I’m rusty. And this arm isn’t quite up to snuff.”

 

Steve shrugged, trying not to spook Bucky and choosing to play it off like it wasn’t the big deal it obviously was.

 

“Maybe another time? I really loved what I heard from the doorway.” Steve offered, smiling softly.

 

“Maybe…” Bucky mumbled, staring at Steve with a contemplative gaze and fidgeting with the long sleeves of his thin gray shirt.

 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve reached his hand out slowly to grasp the other man’s shoulder, not wanting to spook him like he had the night he’d stayed over. 

 

Bucky stayed calm under his touch, surprising both of them. Bucky’s gaze flitted from Steve’s hand on his shoulder to his face, a small, pure, smile breaking out over his face. It was a beautiful sight. 

 

“Yea… Yea, sorry. I’m being weird. Just tired.” Bucky rubbed at his eyes.

 

“Oh!” Steve pulled his hand back. “You should get some sleep. Goodness knows you don’t get nearly enough these days.”

 

Checking the time on his watch, Steve missed Bucky’s small frown at the loss of contact between them.

 

“Well, no wonder. It’s nearly midnight. I should let you go. I’m sorry to keep you.” He apologized sheepishly. Yet, if he were honest he didn’t want to go anywhere. He hadn’t spent nearly enough time with the other man recently.

 

“You’re not keeping me.” Bucky assured him.

 

“Yea?” Steve queried, hopeful.

 

“Yea, but…” Bucky seemed to be debating something internally. “You know what Steve. I changed my mind. Sleep sounds like a great idea, don’t you think?”

 

Steve couldn’t help but feel disappointed that this rare moment between them was cut short, but he couldn’t very well force himself on the other man.

 

“Yea. Sounds great.” He smiled weakly. “Good night Buck.”

 

He waved awkwardly, turning to leave the room.

 

“Steve.” Bucky called to him, stopping him in his tracks to look questioning over his shoulder.

 

Bucky raised a teasing brow. “You not gonna join me?”

 

Steve spluttered. What?

 

“What?” He squeaked out.

 

Steve flushed, embarrassed. He knew he had better game than that. But… Bucky had never shown any sign… Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Either way, he felt his hopes rising that this growing tension Steve felt between them might actually culminate in something. Anything.

 

Bucky smirked, moving from the piano to stand before him. Steve surely knew how to breathe, right?

 

“What can I say,” He shrugged. “The dreams weren’t so bad when I was with you.”

 

“Oh. Well, glad to help.” Steve’s voice was strained. He couldn’t tell which way this was going.

“So, is that a yes?”

 

“Are you sure? I mean, James wasn’t too thrilled the last time.” Steve and James were on much better terms, but he still wasn’t ready to risk another shot to the groin.

 

“James is warming up to you. More than he’ll admit. Even so, I’m trying this new thing where I take what I want. And I want you there.” The teasing grin softened to something sincere and tentative. Like he was worried about Steve’s response.

 

“I guess I’m there then.” Steve answered, simply.

 

Bucky smiled that small, pure smile that Steve loved so much.

 

“Good. And Steve?” Steve hummed in response. “Just so there’s no confusion…”

 

Bucky grasped the back of his neck lightly, pulling Steve down into a sweet, chaste kiss.

 

It was over before it had really begun, but it was enough to light a flame in Steve’s veins. Bucky’s eyes flitted open, dark blue gaze wary beneath thick eyelashes.

 

“Are…” Steve’s voice came out strained. He cleared his throat, continuing. “This is what you want? Me?”

 

Bucky shrugged, suddenly nervous. “I’ve got enough issues for a life time. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. But if you’re willing to have me, warts and all than, Yes. This is what I want. I’ve recently been told I should go for the things I want.” 

 

“I want you too. Till the end of the line.” Steve answered, grinning widely, drawing Bucky into his arms. What else would he say? Bucky wasn’t magically better. Not by a long shot. This would be hard, but Steve didn’t care. He wanted Bucky, “warts and all”. If he could have him, he wasn’t going to run from it.

 

“Till the end of the line.” Bucky whispered back, tilting his head back to brush his lips tentatively against Steve’s once more. It felt like a promise. Steve melts into it, quickly deepening the kiss; his grin never quite fading.


	13. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Bucky and Steve try to enjoy and experience their first day as a couple but Bucky's demons just won't stay buried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I meant for more to happen in this chapter but the plot bunnies just ran wild. As a result, I've added an additional chapter to the overall story. 
> 
> There is a brief PTSD episode in this chapter that Bucky handles in a way Steve isn't comfortable with.

Steve’s initial reaction to waking up is to immediately go back to sleep. The sky was grey, rain falling heavily, and the early November chill seeping into the room was enough to make him want to burrow even deeper into the sheets and multitude of pillows. Sheets which, Steve suddenly realized, weren’t the one’s he’d been sleeping in for the past few months. Where was he?

 

The memory of the previous night - the kiss, falling into bed together, all of it - began breaking through the sleepy fog. So, that had been real. Steve grinned widely. It hadn’t been a dream. He rolled over, hoping to find the other man still sleeping beside him. He wasn’t disappointed.

 

Propping up his arm to support his head as he watched a sleeping Bucky, Steve took a moment to appreciate how young and carefree Bucky looked, cocooned in the sheets, face burrowed in the pillows. No trace of the terrors that marred his expressions in the light of day. Buck stirs momentarily when Steve reaches out a hand to brush away Bucky’s dark hair, but doesn’t wake.

 

The memory of Bucky in his arms the night before brings warmth to Steve’s skin. They hadn’t done much more than kiss the previous night, but it was one of the more intimate nights of Steve’s life. After the ballroom, Bucky had dragged Steve up to his room, peeling him out of his sweater and shirt before falling into bed. There had been nothing rushed or frantic about their movements, rather they had been slow, gentle. As if they had all the time in the world. Last night had been about just finally being together. Finally claiming something they both wanted.

 

Steve hadn’t been sure until last night that Bucky had wanted him in the same way, but looking back he felt like he should have always known. Steve knew that Bucky’s new attempts to seize the life he wanted didn’t mean everything was suddenly fine. That there wouldn’t be times he’d flinch away from Steve’s touch. There would be tests of Steve’s commitment and Bucky’s strength, but Steve knew it would be worth it to wake up like this every morning and fall asleep with him each night.

 

Steve watched him sleep for several minutes, before the urgent pressing on his bladder forced him from the warmth of the bed. Reluctantly, Steve pulled the covers back, shivering at the cold. He had lost his pants sometime during the night as well. Steve wasn’t sure where exactly his clothes were, but that could wait till after he’d found the bathroom.

 

The bathroom was much like what little he’d seen of the rest of Bucky’s room, sparse but welcoming. The most luxurious thing in the room was the steam shower that looked like it would have amazing water pressure. After washing his hands, Steve couldn’t resist the urge to have a look around the bedroom. There hadn’t been time to really see the other man’s room the night before and Steve was curious.

 

Mindful of not waking Bucky, Steve perused the various books, odds and ends scattered around the comfortably sized room. In his distraction, he ended up tripping over a sleeping Thorin who had, Steve noticed with amusement, made a bed out of his clothes. Steve quickly shushed the energetic pup. Bucky seemed to be sleeping well, and Steve didn’t want to interrupt that. For all his efforts though, the quickly growing puppy seemed eager for attention and only grew louder. Perhaps if he took him down to play with the others? Steve quickly pulled on his recently located dark wash jeans and black Henley. If he was fast he could surprise Bucky with some breakfast.

 

Steve was aware how cheesy breakfast in bed was, especially when the two hadn’t really talked about what they were. Sure, they’d said they wanted to be together, but what did that mean for Bucky in the light of day? Would he change his mind? Steve shook off those doubts. No point in freaking himself out before the other man had even woken up.

 

Grabbing his hoodie in one hand, Steve quietly called Thorin over to him and opened the bedroom door. Quick as a bullet, he was off down the hall, probably to find some food as well.

 

“Well. We’re off to a great start. You’re sneaking out before I wake up and we haven’t even fucked yet.”

 

Surprised, Steve nearly drops the hoodie he’s holding, turning to find Bucky slowly sitting up, comforter pooling in his lap, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his good hand. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin just above his dark pajama pants.

 

“Hey.” Steve approached him, recent thoughts making him unsure how he was allowed to greet the other man. “How’d you sleep?”

 

“I’d be sleeping better if you’d come back to bed.” Bucky pouted, making grabbing motions at Steve’s recently acquired hoodie, to drag him closer to the bed.

 

Steve took a seat beside him, instinctively leaning in to greet him with a soft kiss. Bucky hummed happily. So, it seems in the light of day everything is still good.

 

“I was just getting you some food Buck. Figured I would be back before you woke up.”

 

“Hmm.” Bucky drawled, lips twitching. “Likely story.” He leaned forward, mouthing at Steve’s neck.

 

“Come back to bed, Stevie.”

 

Oh. That wasn’t playing fair. Steve felt himself flush, a soft groan escaping him when Bucky’s teeth lightly raked over a mark made the night before. Bucky had been delighted to find out how sensitive that spot was and it seems he was happy to exploit it to get what he wanted, Steve mused fondly.

 

He was quite tempted to forget about the food and pull the other man into a deep kiss, curl around him and spend the day in bed, but now that he was up he could feel how hungry he was. He’d only be gone a minute, right? Then they could pick this up.

 

“I can’t.” Steve practically whined. Bucky pulled back, frowning. “I won’t be gone long, promise. I’m just starving.”

 

Bucky whined, pulling away and shoving his head partway under his pillow, groaning about having to be up at such an ungodly hour and not getting anything out of it. Steve smiles, stroking the soft skin of Bucky’s exposed lower back.

 

“I’ll be back. You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to.”

 

“Ugh. Fine. At least bring me back coffee. Strong. Nat knows how I like it.” His voice muffled by the pillow covering his face.

 

Steve chuckled, pushing himself off the bed and pulling the covers back over Bucky. Slipping on his discarded sweatshirt, Steve padded out towards the kitchen.

 

The kitchen was mostly empty when he got there, except for a robe-clad Natasha who was entertaining Thorin with some bacon. Seems the others were having a lay in as well. She looked up absently at Steve’s entrance.

 

“Hey, Rogers.” She looked back down at Thorin for a moment before immediately swerving her gaze back to Steve. Steve shifted uncomfortably under the assessing gaze. After a few moments her lips twitched in amusement, eyes glinting teasingly.

 

“Well, then. You had a good night.”

 

Steve flushed. “That obvious?” There was no point in trying to hide anything from Natasha.

 

“Well,” Natasha shrugged, tossing the last piece of bacon to Thorin. “I’d like to claim you just “have that glow about you,” but really, you’re neck is littered with bites. It’s almost impressive.”

 

Steve flushed. He hadn’t realized how obvious they were. He should have paid more attention when he was in the bathroom.

 

“Um. Anyway. I was just hoping to grab some food and coffee for him.” Steve desperately wanted to move the subject away from his neck.

 

She waved him off when he started rummaging through the cupboards. “I’ll get you something.”

 

“I take it you two are together now?” She inquired, gathering various pastries and fruit onto a large plate.

 

“Yea…” Steve shrugged, “I mean, I hope so.” He was suddenly nervous. Natasha was one of Bucky’s closest friends and massively protective. Her opinion was important.

 

Natasha simply nodded, “Good. I’m glad. He seems better with you. You’ve been good for him.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Steve flushed under the weight of the compliment. “He’s strong. He’d be all right without me. I’m just grateful he wants me around. Especially given how all this started.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, muttering “the pair of you, honestly.” She finished putting together the food, while Steve hovered awkwardly and mused over whether or not Nat was right.

 

A hot mug of coffee was pressed into his hands, breaking him out of his thoughts.

 

“He can be a bit whiney first thing in the morning before his coffee.” Natasha informed him, fondly.

 

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yea… I’ve noticed. It’s kinda cute though. But… um… you got any tips for me?” Any tips on how to keep him happy. Or as close to that as Bucky seemed to get these days. “I don’t want to screw this up on day one.”

 

Natasha, who had started to hand Steve the plate of food, pulled it back, giving him a suddenly serious look.

 

“Look, there’s not gonna be a magic guide book. I mean it when I say your good for him. You’ve been able to handle his issues better than I had ever hoped. I truly think you will make him happy. Just don’t over think it, yea?”

 

Steve nodded. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that he could make him happy.

 

“Just, promise me one thing.” Natasha said, finally handing him the food.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Don’t break his heart.” Her tone was firm, eyes narrow.

 

“Never.” Steve replied earnestly.

 

“Good.” Natasha relaxed. “Cause I kinda like you Rogers, and I’d hate to have to kill you.” She winked and left the room, Thorin trailing after her, sniffing her hands.

 

Steve chuckled awkwardly. He knew enough by now that that wasn’t an empty threat. Fortunately, he had no plans to ever break Bucky’s heart. If anything he was worried he would be the one to get his heart broken first. But… Steve shook his head; forcing the thoughts away. He didn’t need to dwell on worst-case scenarios and he really didn’t need to tempt fate. Right now, there was a man that he cared deeply for waiting for him to bring him breakfast.

 

He quickly retraced his steps back up to Bucky’s room, noting that for once Clint wasn’t emerging from the shadows to stop him.

 

Entering the room he expected Bucky to still be curled in bed, but he seemed to have migrated to the soft grey couch and was flipping through a worn journal, rosary clutched in his metal grip. His hair was messy and lips red from where he was biting them. Bucky turned his head at Steve’s entrance, dropping the journal and beads on the table when he spotted Steve, lips twitched up in a small smile. He was beautiful. Steve was an idiot. Food could’ve waited.

 

“Hey.” Steve dropped the food on the table, taking a seat beside Bucky on the couch. He leaned in to press an eager kiss to Bucky’s lips, hoping to pick things up where they left off.

 

Bucky pushed him back gently, chastising him, “Nope. You had your chance. Passed up all this,” Bucky gestured at himself, “to get your precious food. Now, you can just wait till after my morning coffee.”

 

Steve might’ve been concerned about already having screwed up if it weren’t for the teasing lilt to Bucky’s voice.

 

Bucky reached forward to clutch the steaming mug from the table, drinking deeply - a small groan of pleasure escaping his lips as he swallowed.

 

Steve chuckled; grabbing one of the pastries Nat had given him. They ate and drank in silence, the only sound coming from the heavy rain hitting the glass doors. It was funny how it could be so dreary outside but so full of possibilities inside.

 

“Hey, I meant to ask.” Steve started, breaking the silence. “I haven’t seen Tony in a few days. Did he head back already?”

 

Bucky stiffened, clenching his mug just a little bit tighter.

 

“Yea..” Bucky croaked out. “Um. He won’t be back for awhile.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll be back for the holidays.” Steve offered. “He mentioned he was making you something rather ingenious.”

 

Steve knew how close they were. Bucky must miss him quite a bit when he’s gone. He felt bad for bringing it up when Bucky flinched and stared blankly into his coffee. He’d only meant to cheer him up.

 

Steve considered pressing the matter, but Bucky obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“I didn’t know you were religious.” Steve mentioned after a tense moment, trying to steer the conversation back into safer waters. He motioned at the rosary on the table.

 

Bucky shrugged, tense expression softening. “I’m not. I mean, I went to mass a lot when I was a kid, but that was mostly just for mom. This was hers.” He dropped his mug on the table and picked up the rosary, rolling the beads over in his hands. “She was Catholic. Part of the reason she immigrated to New York actually. Did you know that under the Soviet Union Catholicism was considered a non-Russian allegiance?” Bucky frowned, gaze unusually focused on the beads. “It’s funny. If she’d just been a different faith, she never would have come here. None of this would have happened. Makes you wonder.”

 

So much for safer waters.

 

Steve frowned, placing a hand over Bucky’s fidgeting ones. “Its no good dwelling on what ifs, Buck and trying to rewrite the past. Trust me. It doesn’t do you any good.”

 

At his side, Bucky let out a derisive snort, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right. That’s rich coming from you, _Cap_.”

 

Steve flinched, releasing Bucky’s hands. The cozy, intimate atmosphere dissipated into something uncomfortable and tense.

 

“Look.” He said, sharply. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

 

Fuck.

 

It had been going so well too. Were they never going to have just one day without the past torturing them?

 

Bucky cringed.

 

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

 

Steve took a deep breath, smile strained. “It’s fine. Really.”

 

He threaded his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones, squeezing slightly.  

 

Bucky breathed out a frustrated sigh. He moved quickly, surprising Steve by straddling his lap, expression determined.

 

“What are you doing?”Steve sputtered, brow furrowed.

 

“Trying not screw this up in the first 24 hours. I’m a dick. I know. I try not to be but….” Bucky shrugged, brows furrowed. “It won’t be the last time and I’m worried it’ll drive you away.”

 

“Of course not.” Steve gave him an incredulous look. “That was a dick comment, yes. Do I wish you wouldn't snap at me like that every time I try to help? Of course. But I'm not a child. Now,” Steve grabbed the nape of Bucky’s neck, fingers sliding through soft dark hair, “can we please not let this ruin our first day as…. Whatever we are.”

 

Steve just wanted that cozy intimacy back.

 

“You sure? Didn’t scare you off already.” Bucky joked, but the words fell flat.  

 

“Unless your gonna kick me out, I'm not going anywhere.” Steve shrugged. “It was one off – hand comment. Leaving would kind of be an overreaction.” He pushed down the last of the irritation Bucky’s earlier comment spurred. He knew this – whatever they were - it would be hard; Bucky’s triggers were vast and would take time to maneuver. Yet, that was no reason they couldn't try to be happy.

 

“You'd leave on your own before I ever kicked you out.” Bucky murmured. So quiet that Steve wasn't sure if he was meant to hear.

 

Steve wanted to contest that statement, but he felt showing it would sink in more than words.

 

“So..” Steve cleared his throat, looking for a subject change. “Now that that’s settled. What did you want to do today?”

 

Bucky looked out the window, where the rain fell ever heavier. Steve could see faint flashes of lightening in the distance. There wouldn’t be much venturing outdoors in their immediate future.

 

“Well, if its up to me…” Bucky smirked, looping his arms around Steve’s neck and shifting slightly on his lap. “I want to apologize.” He leaned in, lips brushing against Steve’s as he spoke. “All.” A playful nip on his bottom lip. “Day.” A teasing brush of lips. “Long.” Bucky whispered, pulling Steve into a hard, searing kiss.

 

If Bucky’s soft, sweet kisses had lit a fire in Steve’s veins, this kiss was like pouring hot lava. His whole body flushed and his heart rate doubled.

 

Regrettably, Steve pulled away when a stray thought crossed his mind. “Hey, what about James?”

 

Bucky groaned. “What about him? He’s not watching, I promise. He’s weird but he’s not creepy.” He brushed his lips along Steve’s jaw.

 

“No.” Steve stuttered. “Not that. I just meant… Is he okay with this? You and me. How does that work if he ever wanted to date someone else?”

 

Steve feels like this is something he should have addressed last night. He wanted James to be happy, but, if he were completely honest, he didn’t want James to date anyone else. He didn’t want to share this.

 

Bucky pulled back a thoughtful look crossing his face.

 

“I think… he wasn’t before, but I think he’s fine with us now. Whatever you’ve done with him or said to him has seemed to change his opinion of you. It’s weird but I think he sees you as a friend.”

 

Bucky looked a bit disturbed by this assessment. As if the notion of James actually having a friend, despite wanting it for him, wasn’t something he actually thought would happen.

 

Steve, on the other hand, warmed at the knowledge that the withdrawn, intense James was letting him in. Since James had stopped fighting him and started trusting him, he had shown himself to also be thoughtful, clever, and had been surprisingly patient with Steve’s attempts to help him figure out what sorts of things he did and didn’t like.

 

“As far as him dating,” Bucky shrugged, “It’s never been something he’s mentioned wanting to do.”

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips, distracting him. It worked for a moment, but there was something else bothering him.

 

“But what if when you finally leave here, he does meet someone?” Steve pressed.

 

Bucky pushed himself up to look Steve in the eye, brow raised.

 

“You really want to talk about James while we’re making out?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

 

“If I do will you shut up and make out with me?” Bucky whined.

 

Steve nodded, pecking a kiss to Bucky’s full lips.

 

“Fine.” Bucky sighed, dramatically. “Honestly, he’s big on doing what he thinks is best for me. So, I don’t think he ever would just because the only way I wouldn’t find it creepy and violating is if he somehow developed a hard on for you.”

 

Steve spluttered, thrown by the idea James would ever see him that way. “Right. Like that would ever happen.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know Rogers.” Bucky teased, “You are kinda hot. I’m sure even Mr. Grumpy Pants can’t stay totally immune.”

 

Steve flushed, “Buck.”

 

“Relax,” Bucky chuckled, lips brushing Steve’s. “I’m joking. Point is it shouldn’t be a problem. Now, you made a deal and it’s time to collect.”

 

He drew Steve into a rough kiss. Bucky’s lips were soft and Steve’s own met them eagerly. The rest of the world faded as Steve’s hands gripped tightly at Bucky's hips, desperately wanting to draw him closer. Every ounce of him wanted to kiss him harder, deeper. Their previous kisses had been gentle, exploratory. Even teasing. This one had purpose. Passion. Passion Steve had never felt before. The urge to touch Bucky so strong he felt like it would burn him from the inside out.

 

Bucky’s tongue lightly traced Steve’s bottom lip, fingers twining in Steve’s short blonde hair. The coolness from the metal brushing against his searing skin caused him to gasp, opening his mouth easily under Bucky’s ministrations.

 

The blood in his body rushed south as their tongues met, Bucky moaning into his mouth. The seconds bled into minutes, hips rocking together, before the need to breathe became too much.

 

“Well, I think you should keep apologizing.” Steve joked, when they reluctantly broke apart, breathless and just a bit dazed.

 

Bucky chuckled, kissing his way down to seal his swollen mouth over Steve’s neck, sucking a new mark onto his collarbone. Steve’s brain briefly short circuited, strangled groan falling from his lips. At this rate his whole body would soon be covered in them. Extending his neck to Bucky, he couldn’t even pretend to care.

 

His dick was throbbing, straining against his jeans. Steve’s hands gripped the hem of Bucky’s shirt, tugging it up. He wanted to see him.

 

Bucky mouth released Steve’s neck with a wet pop, hands quickly halting Steve’s attempts.

 

“No.” Bucky breathed heavily, eyes blown and mouth swollen.

 

It took a moment for the refusal to sink through Steve’s dazed arousal. When it does he frowns, confused.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Bucky pushes back slightly from where he’d been flush against Steve, swallowing thickly. Steve notes he’s still hard. So its not that. 

 

“It’s not a big deal.” Bucky tries to assure him. It might have if not for how it was obviously a big deal.

 

“Bucky…”

 

“I just.” Bucky ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I don’t wear long sleeved shirts for nothing you know.”

 

Of course. His scars. Steve should’ve guessed.

 

“Okay. That’s okay. I mean. I hope one day you’ll be comfortable with me seeing, but that doesn’t need to be today.” He rubbed his thumb against the soft skin of Bucky’s lower back, soothingly, brushing a firm kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky opened his mouth to respond just as a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, accompanied by a deafening clap of thunder. Bucky instinctively pulled Steve onto the thick carpet, throwing his body over Steve’s and warning him to stay down. Steve pulled back just enough to see the wild look in Bucky’s eyes. His cloud of arousal dissipated at the look. That look was better than any cold shower.  

 

Shit. They really couldn’t just have one fucking day.

 

“Hey.” Steve tried to assure him, careful not to spook him with any sudden movements. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s just the storm.”

 

“I need to keep you safe.” Bucky sounded terrified, eyeing the various corners of the room.

 

Steve’s heart clenched. It was like his dad all over again.

 

After a few agonizing minutes Bucky’s eyes finally regained focus and clarity. 

 

“Buck. Do you know where you are?”

 

“Yea.” Buck frowned, breathing ragged. “We’re in my room. We were on the couch and then… Fuck.”

 

Bucky rocked back on his heels, head between his knees.

 

“No. Damnit, No.” Bucky muttered to himself. “Fuck you James. I can handle this. I’m okay.”

 

Steve couldn’t do much but wait as Bucky’s muttering quieted. He felt useless. There must be something he could do.

 

“Bucky?” Steve approached him cautiously, placing a tentative grip on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Bucky finally lifted his head, brows furrowed in irritation.

 

“Man. Talk about a buzz kill.” He whined, pressing his sweaty forehead against Steve’s.

 

There seemed to be no trace of the fear or confusion from just a moment before. Just annoyance. If anything he seemed…. Okay?

 

Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing.

 

“What do you need?” When Sam had an episode he fluctuated between needing to be alone and wanting Steve in his sights for the rest of the day.

 

“I need to feel normal.” Bucky growled – more at himself than Steve. “And I need you to do that thing you were doing with your tongue.” He pulled Steve between his thighs.

 

Steve frowned, worried. “Now? You sure that’s a good coping strategy?”

 

Bucky pressed a wet, insistent kiss to Steve’s pursed lips. “I don’t really care if it’s not.”

 

“Buck…” Steve protested.

 

“Look.” Bucky huffed; hot breath tickling Steve’s cheek. “I would rather try and be a normal guy making out with his best guy then dwell on everything that just happened. No consent issues here. Promise.”

 

Steve hesitated, unsure. As much as he wanted to believe Bucky could rebound like that, he wasn’t convinced.

 

“Seriously Stevie, it’s fine.” Bucky breathed, exasperated.

 

“Now if you wouldn’t mind,” Bucky arched into Steve. “Doing that thing with your tongue?”

 

Steve considered Bucky might be lying, but when the gasping man beneath him drew him into a wet kiss, tongue prodding his own to action, his eyes showed no trace of confusion or fear that had been present the other times he’d had an episode.

 

Bucky briefly pulled away, pouting at the tentative Steve. “You’re not gonna make a guy beg are you? I promise you you’re not doing anything I don’t want you to do. Just trust me.”

 

Steve was tempted to believe him, but a quick look down registered that Steve wasn’t the only one who’d gone soft. Bucky shouldn’t be doing this.

 

Decision made, Steve pulled away from the kiss, dragging them both onto the couch. Bucky continued to protest when Steve pulled him into his side, the only kisses he would now give being the ones he pressed to the top of Bucky’s head.

 

“We’re not gonna do this right now. You _just_ had an episode.”

 

“Steve, we talked about this. Don’t treat me like glass.” Bucky snapped, his blue gaze narrow beneath thick lashes.

 

“I’m not.” Steve sighed, trailing his fingers through Bucky’s mussed hair. “I’m just refusing to be a warm body for you to forget your problems. It’s not healthy. For either of us.”

 

Bucky pulled away sharply, stung. “The _fuck_? Besides, even if I was… What is _so wrong_ with that?” He snapped, teeth slightly bared.

 

Steve had apparently hit a nerve. His heart dropped. It seems he hadn’t been wrong to stop. He would have so much preferred to learn he was just being overprotective.

 

“Besides.” Bucky barreled on, before Steve could respond. “It’s not like it’d be the first time I did it. Apparently, it worked just fine for me in Iraq.”

 

Steve jerked in shock. “Iraq? What are you talking about?”

 

“Fuck Iraq. We’re not talking about that right now.” Bucky pushed himself further out of Steve’s reach.

 

“Listen to me...” Steve started, but was interrupted by Bucky shaking his head, expression screwed up in frustration.

 

“No. You listen. You’re seriously going to sit there and judge me? Try to tell me how to cope? Really? You?” He raised a mocking brow at Steve.

 

“No. That’s not what I’m doing.” Steve protested. “If that’s how you want to cope, that’s your prerogative.” He didn’t like it but he wouldn’t stop him. “Just don’t expect me to be willingly involved. There have to be better ways to deal than using sex. Its just cheap.”

 

Bucky flinched. “Wow. Fuck you.” He whispered, hurt. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, biting his lip and avoiding Steve’s gaze.

 

“Well, call me an asshole, but I don’t want our first time to be because you had an episode and your trying to forget about your problems.” Steve didn’t know how to turn this conversation around. How was he supposed to get Bucky to understand?

 

“You sure this isn’t just some way for you to let me down gently?” His voice was shaking. “Poor Bucky had a freak out. He’s too unstable to even fuck.” He swallowed thickly, eyes glistening.

 

“Buck…”

 

“Planning how to run for the hills yet?” Bucky asked, snidely. “Not like Fury can stop you now.”

 

“Oh, would you _SHUT UP_.” Steve had initially tried to approach this with sensitivity, but now he was just pissed. Pissed at himself, at Bucky’s words, at the whole damn unfairness of their situation. Who did this to Bucky? If Steve ever found out, he’d kill them.

 

“I’m not going anywhere. All I’ve tried to do _since I got here_ is help you. So would you please just _back off?”_

“You’re not exactly denying the bit about letting me down gently.” Bucky reminded him, bitterly.

 

Steve growled, gripping Bucky’s jaw to turn him to face Steve.

 

“I’m not sleeping with you right now because I care about you.” He told him, voice firm and unquestionable. “More than anything in my life. And I’m _asking you_ to respect that I care about what our relationship could be too much to cheapen any aspect of it this way.”

 

Bucky’s bitter, angry front soothed the longer they sat there, Steve adding more assurances and explanations in an attempt to repair the damage.

 

Sniffling and rubbing a stray tear that had fallen from his eyes, Bucky finally nodded.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky smiled bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want to feel normal. I don’t want to fuck this up.” He brushed the back of his fingers over Steve’s cheek. “You’re the first thing I’ve let myself want in too long.”

 

“Okay.” Steve murmured. “Then let me help you. Stop pushing me away.”

  
Steve was in no position to judge anyone’s methods for coping, but it didn’t change the way he felt. He’d done meaningless sex before and it never helped. Sleeping with Bucky as a distraction _felt_ meaningless, and that was never something he wanted for them.

 

Bucky curled into his side, sighing heavily. They stayed curled together for the majority of the day, snacking on fruit and pastries, and distracting themselves with old movies. Bucky never tried to make another move, but Steve knew he’d done the right thing every time he felt Bucky flinch at a particularly loud boom of thunder.

 

“So,” Steve murmured, when the storm had settled and they were comfortably entwined. “Your best guy, huh?”

 

Bucky blushed, burrowing his face in Steve’s neck, “Yea, well. Lover is just so cliché, don’t ya think?”

 

“I like it. It’s fitting.”

 

He felt Bucky’s grin against his neck. Dropping a kiss to Bucky’s head, he tightened his grip around Bucky’s waist and allowed himself to doze off.

 

Their first day had been mired by every conceivable problem, and they’d managed to survive it. They could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long for me to update. Ive had a lot going on and just haven't had the motivation. I'm hoping to have the next chapter out soon. In the meantime I just created a new blog for my AO3 fic on tumblr!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/llenorion
> 
> Feel free to drop by :) I'll probably post some teasers while i'm working.


	14. All Our Secrets Laid Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky lays himself completely bare and feels something surprisingly like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry its taken me a stupidly long time to update with this chapter. Hopefully I'll have chapter 15 up by New Years. 
> 
> Also! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story and the lovely comments:) 
> 
> This chapter is about twice as long as normal to try and make up for the long wait. 
> 
> Just an FYI, I've started a Tumblr account where I post updates and teasers for this story and any other stories I'm going to start working on. Find me at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/llenorion 
> 
> or you can find me on my personal blog at  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tinydancer341
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays:) 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

“You’re staring again.” Bucky mumbles into his pillow, peering up at Steve, who was perched up slightly against the headboard. He flushed at Bucky’s words, turning back to where he seemed to be writing something out on a stray piece of paper.

 

It was the middle of the afternoon, sunlight streaming in through the window and warming Bucky’s skin. The storm had finally passed after secluding them indoors for two days. Two wonderful days…

 

Bucky smiled faintly at the memories, shifting to lay his head on Steve’s thigh. He still found himself occasionally flinching away from Steve’s touch but as he allowed himself to want this… the more he opened himself up to the possibility of being happy like Nat had told him to… he was hopeful.

 

They were currently lounging in Steve’s bed; having retreated to the guesthouse the second the storm let up so Steve could get some fresh clothes. Bucky had tried to convince him to just run around naked, but since Bucky’s episode, Steve had been wary of getting too intimate.

 

He detested the feeling of being treated like he would break, but in a weird way Bucky liked Steve’s concern. No one had ever cared that much. With Nat and Grayson they’d both just been trying to forget too. But with Steve…

 

_Steve is just doing what is best for you._

Bucky jerked slightly in surprise. Steve’s gaze flicked up, curious. Bucky waved him off, rolling on to his side, facing away from Steve.

 

**_Dude. What happened to giving us some space? And since when are you in Stevie’s fan club? Finally admitting you like him?_ **

****

Bucky smirked at the feeling of irritation James emitted at his teasing.

****

_It’s been four days. I have been exceedingly patient. We had a deal. As for Steve… He’s not… as horrible as I may have first suspected. He treats you well. So stop being a horny ass._

Bucky was torn between irritation at James’ judgment and amusement at his assessment of Steve. Still, Bucky sighed, they did have a deal. Suppose the honeymoon had to end sometime.

 

**_Can I just have one more day? Please._ **

****

_…._

**_James?_ **

****

_Fine. I will allow one more day. And Bucky?_

**_Yea?_ **

****

_You need to tell him about Grayson._

**_The hell I do._** Bucky snapped.

 

This thing with Steve was too new to throw in a dead lover that he killed. It would drive Steve away for sure and that was the last thing Bucky needed right now.

 

_I know you still dream of him. As much as you care about Steve, I warned you about getting involved with Steve before you got over him._

**_Look, man –_ **

_Please, just listen,_ James interrupted, annoyed. _I am no good when it comes to understanding emotions, but I do know one thing. You loved him so much it fractured you. Out there it’s been five years, but for you? It’s only been a few weeks. Steve deserves to know he’s still sharing your heart._

 

Bucky had a retort ready, but the concern James was emitting gave him pause. He had grown used to James’ overbearing concern for his mental and emotional health, but for the first time….

 

The concern wasn’t for him.

 

 ** _I’ll think about it._** Bucky replied instead.

****

_Good._

James retreated, leaving Bucky to ponder over what that concern meant. He’d meant it when he told Steve that James was starting to consider him a friend. At least, as much as James considered anyone a friend. But this… this was new.

 

“Hey.” Bucky startled, rolling onto his back and tilting his head to stare into Steve’s curious gaze.

 

“You okay, Buck? You’ve been staring into space for a few minutes.”

 

Bucky considered telling him the truth – if only because it was something James seemed to really want – but the fear of Steve walking away… Bucky was a coward.

 

“Just trying to decide what to get Nat for her birthday.” He replied, with more calm than he was feeling.

 

He shifted up the bed to join Steve in leaning against the headboard. Steve didn’t look convinced but didn’t push the subject.

 

Blessedly, he turned his attention back towards his paper and pencil and away from him. Bucky had been curious what he’d been doing all morning, but Steve had evaded every question. Even now, the angle was just so that Bucky couldn’t make out exactly what was on the page.

 

“Are you ever gonna tell me what you’re doing?” Bucky scooted closer, trying to get a look.

 

Steve let out a small yelp, drawing the page close to his chest, protectively. His face flushed slightly with embarrassment at his reaction.

 

Bucky raised his brow, mockingly. “Yea… You know that’s not gonna stop me from wanting to look?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, quickly rolling the sheet of paper and tucking it into the side drawer.

 

“It’s not done yet. If your good, I’ll show you when it’s done. Maybe.” Steve teased.

 

Bucky groaned. “Oh come on, you know your just making me more curious the more you deny me. Is it some new story your working on?”

 

They hadn’t talked much about Steve’s job. At first it had been because Steve was supposed to write about him and they both seemed to agree not to bring it up when they were just hanging out. Now, it just reminded Bucky that Steve had something waiting for him – a life that he was selfishly keeping him from. A life he also knew nothing about.

 

Steve shook his head, amused. “I’m not telling you. All I’ll say is it’ll be worth the wait. So try to be patient.” He teased, leaning over to brush a light kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

 

Right. Patience. Something he just _excelled_ in.

 

“Not likely, but fine.”

 

Steve chuckled, rolling out of bed and heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

 

Bucky eyed the drawer, curious if it _was_ a new article. If it was did that mean Steve was planning on leaving? What was waiting for him back home? Bucky had never wanted to know, but he needed to be prepared.

 

Truthfully, he was always surprised to remember that Steve was a journalist. He’d met many of them growing up the way he did, always willing to do whatever it took for a story. Even if that story wasn’t always true. Steve had never struck him as the sort of person he’d associated with journalists.

 

“You know…” Bucky started cautiously.

 

Steve hummed in response, eyes flicking up in the mirror to catch his reflection.

 

“We’ve never actually talked about your work. Why _did_ you become a journalist?” He noticed Steve’s shoulders tense at his question, eyes sharpening.

 

He spit out some toothpaste, “It’s a long story. It’d only bore you.”

 

In for a penny, in for a pound.

 

“Yea, well. We’re not exactly short on time.”

 

Steve made a non-committal grunt, continuing to brush his teeth and avoiding Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

 

“You don’t wanna tell me, do you?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve didn’t respond.

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a slight scowl on his lips. Steve was being weird about such a simple question. Unless…

 

“This isn’t about you having a job you’ll eventually have to get back to, is it?” He inquired, voice calmer than he felt.

 

He couldn’t help the clench of fear in his gut at the topic of Steve leaving finally being broached. Especially after they’d just gotten together. He would keep him here forever if he could, but if he did… what did that make him?

 

Steve spit out the remaining toothpaste, shooting Bucky an unreadable look over his shoulder.

 

“Cause…” Bucky started, voice small, “If it is… Look, Steve – “

 

“It isn’t.” Steve cut him off, firmly.

 

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Steve crossed the room to lean against one of the posts of the bed.

 

“That’s not what this is about Buck. At least, not completely.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, nervously. Bucky tried to ignore the lurch in his stomach at the small admittance.

 

“I just… You know I don’t like to think about certain parts of my past. I’ve spent so long trying to run from it …” Steve broke off, unsure how to finish.

 

Bucky understood though, better than anyone, the desire to push you’re past away and try and pretend it didn’t exist.

 

“I didn’t mean to bring up something unpleasant, Steve. I just wanted to understand.” He pushed himself down the bed, closer to Steve, grabbing the other man’s hand in his good one.

 

Steve watched him considering, as Bucky traced patterns into Steve’s palm soothingly.

 

After several moments a small ghost of a smile quirked on Steve’s lips, his expression turning fond. He leaned forward to brush a soft kiss to the underside of Bucky’s stubbled jaw, large hand reaching out to grasp the back of his neck.

 

“You know,” Steve said, dropping onto the bed beside Bucky, hand pulling Bucky’s head close. “I’ve spent the last several years trying to run from my past, try and forget it happened, and within a matter of weeks I’m reliving it all for you. What is it about you?”

 

“Well I am devilishly charming.” Bucky teased in favor of admitting Steve had somehow done the same to him.

 

Steve chuckled, his blue eyes bright with fondness and something Bucky couldn’t quite place, but made his stomach flip.

 

“Alright, you know what…” Steve pulled back, leaning against the post and watching Bucky. He worried his lip between his teeth, mulling something over in his head.

 

“I’ll tell you. Only cause you’re so damn curious. And… well. I’ve already told you everything else. Might as well go all the way, right?”

 

Bucky frowned, “You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to, Steve.”

 

Steve shook his head, waving him off. “No, really. It’s fine. I’m making it out to be a bigger deal than it is. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.”

“You know, I hear the beginning is usually a good place.”

 

Ok. Wow. Bucky cringed inwardly. Way to sass when your best guy is trying to open up.

 

Steve looked unimpressed, but didn’t comment.

 

“I didn’t always want to be a journalist. When I was a kid I used to want to write and draw children’s books.” Of course he did, Bucky mused. Cause he just had to be more perfect.  
“I used to make homemade ones for my mom and she loved them. Used to put them on display around the house, in fact. But… after she died and we lost the house and everything inside…” Steve broke off, swallowing thickly, “well, lets just say I haven’t had much desire since.”

 

Steve smiled bitterly, picking at his pajama pants.

 

“Steve…” Bucky shuffled closer, curling into Steve’s side and stilling the other man’s hand in his own metal grip. He rested his head on Steve’s chest, as thick fingers tentatively brushed up his side before resting in Bucky’s messy hair, stroking softly.

 

Warm breath tickled the back of his neck, as Steve regained himself to continue the story.

 

“After mom died, I lived on the streets for awhile until… Well. How much did James tell you?”

 

“About the kids? Enough.”

 

James had been suspiciously stingy with the details, but Bucky knew enough to know that Steve did the best he could.

 

“Right, well. After… that… I couldn’t pretend to lead those kids anymore. I couldn’t be Captain America anymore. The problem was I was a high school drop out and at the time I was too sick to follow Sam into the military. I didn’t have a ton of options, so when Rumlow offered me the job I took it.”

 

“To be a journalist? That seems like an odd thing for someone to offer a random street kid.”

 

Steve’s fingers briefly stilled in Bucky’s hair.

 

“There was a bit more too it, of course. Though you have to understand, Brock wasn’t some random guy. He is … Or rather; he used to be the closest thing I had to family. When I ran after mom died, he found me sleeping on the streets and took me into his group of street kids. I was a total mess, but he taught me how to take care of myself and … lets just say he gave me a reason to keep fighting.” Steve admitted, voice growing hoarse with emotion.

 

Bucky clenched Steve’s hand tightly at the insinuation.

 

“Brock… He was only a few years older than me, but he was such a strong, enigmatic leader. I was just a skinny, asthmatic orphan – barely worth noting – but he noticed me. Until Sam joined the gang a few months later, Brock was the only one who saw something in me and I loved him for it.”

 

“We really can’t just have a simple answer to normal questions, can we?” Bucky muttered, trying to smother the sudden flicker of jealousy. Steve snorted in laughter, fingers resuming their ministrations.

 

“Probably part of what makes us work.” Steve joked

 

“Heh. Probably. So what happened to him?”

 

“Well,” He cleared his throat. “I’d been with them for a few years when a local senator was doing some sort of philanthropic visit in our neighborhood. Brock and I were bored so we went to watch the speech. He noticed someone had a gun and managed to subdue the guy. Long story not quite so long, the senator was grateful and offered Brock work on his security detail and he took it, leaving the rest of us behind. That’s when I took over and took on the Captain America mantle to deal with the increasing attacks.”

 

“Dick. Who leaves a bunch of kids who looked to you for guidance and a place to sleep to fend for themselves.” Bucky scowled.

 

Steve stiffened, gently pushing Bucky away from him. “We were just kids.”

 

Bucky leaned back, confused, trying to meet Steve’s gaze but he refused to meet his. It took longer than it should have for it to click. Fuck.

 

“Stevie, I didn’t mean you. You did the best you could.” Bucky reached out to cup Steve’s jaw but he smacked the hand away, pushing himself off the bed and out of Bucky’s reach. Bucky flinched at the harsh gesture, just managing to remind himself he was safe. He was home. Steve wouldn’t hurt him.

 

“What the hell makes me so special? Huh?” Steve gritted out. “At least he left me behind to watch after them. I _abandoned_ them.”  
  
Steve was suddenly shaking, stepping away every time Bucky tried to get near.

 

“They had no one to protect them from what happened to them after I left and that will _always_ be my fault.”

 

A sick feeling clawed its way into Bucky’s stomach.

 

“I thought you stopped the people that was tormenting the neighborhood.”

 

Steve crossed his arms protectively across his heaving chest, refusing to answer. His gaze fixed stubbornly at a point above Bucky’s head.

 

“Stevie… please. Talk to me.”

 

Steve didn’t respond for several minutes, just staring at the wall. Bucky had resigned himself to not getting an answer when Steve drew in a shaky breath, finally meeting his gaze. “Do you know why kids end up on the streets? What they’re running away from? I was a depressed orphan but some of these other kids… the utter _hell_ they’d escaped…” A stray tear escaped bright, ashamed, eyes.

 

“When Rumlow came back, just days after I lost those other kids, he told me the senator he’d been working for had pulled strings to put him through a journalism course to work in his corner within the media, or some shit. Rumlow had managed to convince the senator to give me a shot as well. The kids needed me, needed us, but I couldn’t do it anymore and I took the job. I left. Stupid me, I didn’t question it.”

 

Another tear splashed down his cheek. Bucky suspected the other man had never spoken about this before now. So much anger and regret he’d buried down. Frozen to his spot, Bucky could only think that they were just two peas in a pod, weren’t they? So much darkness buried down and somehow they found light in each other.

 

“I had trusted him. After we got off the streets he kept looking after me. Found me the best doctors… I finally got healthy. Sam was gone and he was all I had and like an idiot I _trusted_ him. I’d loved Brock, he’d been my family, but … heh… “ A wry, bitter grin crossed his lips, “I guess the promise of power changes people.”

 

Bucky felt useless as Steve once again ducked his advances, not allowing any sort of comfort. Fine. Maybe he just needed to get this out. He was almost rambling, but Bucky wouldn’t stop it. Goodness knows the other man had doubtlessly kept this in for far too long.

 

“I don’t know how he knew it was us, but Brock sold out all the kids he and I had been responsible for in an expose about who was responsible for all the vigilante stuff and where the kids liked to hang out. All of them, every last one, were either arrested, sent to foster care, back home, or juvie. Kids whose families and the system had already failed… they were separated and sent back to be abused and neglected. It had been my job to protect them… But… you’ve got to believe I never thought I’d have to protect them from Brock.” He pleaded, as though he thought Bucky blamed him the way he blamed himself. Bucky would never.

 

“He didn’t name you?”

 

“I wish.” Steve spat out, bitterly. “For some reason he spared me. But… after I failed them I decided if all I had left was journalism I would be the sort who uncovers corruption and abuse and protects the innocent. Only problem is I went freelance after what happened and haven’t been able to get much of my work published.”

 

Bucky carefully approached him, grateful when Steve finally stopped side stepping him. He gripped Steve’s hip with his metal hand, using his good one to brush the lingering tears from his face. Steve shakily grasped Bucky’s neck, thumb rubbing absently at his nape.

“I took the deal to write your book in hopes I’d get the publicity and recognition I needed to write the stories that deserve to be told. I never wanted to be a journalist, but it’s the _only_ thing I have to help fight back.” He confessed quietly, his gaze still bright and ashamed.

 

The book… the biggest lie of them all. Bucky had never felt bad about denying Steve the opportunity until just that moment. He had no idea how much it would have meant for him.

 

“Once a vigilante, always a vigilante, huh?” Bucky muttered, softly.

  
Steve snorted derisively. “Well, what’s that saying? The pen is mightier than the sword. Figured I’d give it a try.”

 

Bucky lips quirked slightly.

 

“I’m sorry. You and those kids deserved better than Rumlow. Still, you can’t keep blaming yourself, Steve. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Steve flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I’ll stop when you stop.”

 

Bucky frowned, confused. As far as Steve knew, he was just dealing with PTSD. They hadn’t talked much about what he remembered James having to do or any of his own missions.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“A few weeks ago, before you got your memories back. Here in this room, James and I had a fight and he let something slip.”

 

Bucky felt like the ground had dropped out from under him.

 

“What did he say?” He asked, tonelessly.

 

Steve shrugged, frowning, “Just that he was reluctant to give you back your memories because he didn’t want you to remember what you had done. He didn’t say what it was, but I got the feeling it was something major.”

 

Damn. His mind raced to earlier that day when James asked him to tell Steve about Grayson. This would be as good a time as any, and it would mean a lot to James, but Bucky was terrified.

 

He couldn’t tell him, but… Steve had just shared so much and Bucky couldn’t share anything? This wasn’t just anything though. But… neither was Steve’s confession, and Bucky still trusted him. Still wanted him. Nat hadn’t abandoned him when she found out…

 

Bucky didn’t know what to do. Steve was standing there, eyes sad and his confession fresh on his lips. He didn’t look like he expected Bucky to tell him, which weirdly made him feel like he should. It suddenly struck him that Steve was always the one giving of himself. Baring his soul and scars for Bucky to see and judge. Maybe it did change everything, but Bucky needed to do this.

 

“I… “ The words got stuck in Bucky’s throat. He couldn’t get them out. Once they were out, there was no putting it back, but he needed to do this.

 

“Buck. I’m not asking you to tell me. I’m just telling you – “

 

Bucky would never know what Steve was trying to tell him. Before he lost his nerve, Bucky forced the words, tumbling and shaky, out with no chance of taking them back.

 

“I killed the man I was in love with.”

 

Steve’s jaw dropped slightly, eyes confused and just the slightest bit wary. Bucky’s heart clenched painfully as Steve’s firm grip on his neck retreated as if it’d been bitten. His grip on Steve’s hip tightened reflexively but he dropped it at the other man’s soft groan of pain.

 

“I didn’t have a choice. I swear, Steve. You don’t know what they did to me. They fucked with my head… some serum… I couldn’t stop it. I loved him so much and it wasn’t enough to…” Bucky swallowed, tears blurring his vision. “It fractured me, Steve. Please, believe me.” Bucky pleaded.

 

“You… I don’t…” Steve shook his head, slowly, stance defensive, gaze and expression torn between confusion, wariness, and concern.

 

“Steve.” The other man flinched away from Bucky’s outstretched hand.

 

Bucky felt like the world was spinning and he couldn’t find purchase. It was out there now, and Bucky needed Steve to understand. He couldn’t loose him. The whole truth then.

 

“I was a POW. You already know that. What you don’t know is the organization keeping us hostage had access to a serum that fucked with our heads and forced our compliance to their orders. I was the most receptive to the treatments and one of the few who didn’t go completely mad. As a test they ordered me to kill a fellow member of my unit, a man I’d been sleeping with and had - in quiet moments – been planning a future with. I fought the order as hard as I could but I wasn’t strong enough. The second the knife hit his throat I retreated. For better or worse, James has been protecting me ever since.”

 

Bucky prayed to anyone and anything listening that Steve would understand. That he wouldn’t walk out the door and never come back.

“Steve, please believe me. I’d never hurt you.”

 

Steve collapsed into one of the grey chairs, head buried in his hands, muttering to himself. Bucky felt tears trickling down his cheeks, as he stood stuck in his spot, feet unwilling to move.

 

What felt like hours later, Steve lifted his head, mouth opening to form words that could make or break Bucky.

 

“I… I do… I believe you.”

 

Bucky wasn’t sure who looked more surprised at the words. Steve frowned, confused, but seemed to rationalize something in his head because his confusion shifted to calm determination.

 

“I’m probably an idiot. This feels too easy… Any other person would leave or be scared you’d hurt them, but… I’m … _not._ Maybe there was a time James worried me, but never you. For better or worse, I just… trust you. And James.”

 

Bucky couldn’t move, or speak. It felt like if he moved he’d wake from a glorious dream to a reality where Steve wasn’t there anymore.

 

“Bucky? Are you listening to me?” Steve crossed the room, taking Bucky’s face in his large hands. This was real.

 

“How? I don’t… I don’t even trust me.” Bucky croaked.

 

“I don’t know, Buck. I just do. I’ve seen the way you torture yourself. Nobody who would willingly do what you’re talking about would care half as much. That said, I am _so_ _fucking sorry_ that happened to you. I’ve told you before how strong you are for still surviving and I couldn’t mean it any more than I do right now.”

 

Bucky laughed, but it was a weak, bitter, and strangled sound.

 

“It was five years ago but for me it’s been weeks, Steve. I hate myself every day for it.” Bucky considered taking what was offered but James was right… Steve deserved to know.

 

“I still love him and I still miss him.”

 

“Oh…” Steve’s grip faltered, gaze shuttering.

 

Bucky grabbed his hands to keep him from walking away.

 

“You need to understand. I started falling for you before the memories came back. Even now that I have them… I’ve had weeks of trying to sort my feelings for the two of you out and I can promise you that, as much as I want him back… if he were here, I would still choose you. Your still the first thing I’ve let myself want in years. The way I feel for you… the way I could let myself one-day feel for you… But James was right… you deserve to know.”

 

“Okay.” Steve breathed shakily. “Okay… Thank you.”

 

Bucky frowned. He’d just poured his heart out he got an ‘okay’? What did he do with that?

 

Steve drew back, running a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the room.

 

Bucky watched helplessly as the other man rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a grey Henley and dark jeans. Without looking at Bucky he stripped and pulled on the fresh clothes and a pair of boots. He didn’t seem to be packing but he was obviously itching to get away from him.

 

Steve grabbed a thick black sweater and peacoat from its spot on the floor, seemingly making for the door before halting and turning to Bucky, who hadn’t moved from his spot. He spent a long moment taking Bucky’s trembling form in, face blank.

 

The tension was squeezing Bucky’s heavily beating heart. With everything they’d been keeping secret finally lain out, this moment might make or break him.

 

“I’m a fucking idiot.” Steve snorted, voice surprisingly calm. His expression was suddenly determined, but calm. He had reached a decision. Whatever that decision was.

 

“I’m stubborn.” His words were soothing, yet firm. “I’ve done a countless things I regret… I’ve got so many problems and the sort of past I should be in therapy for. I have so many faults but…. Fuck what anyone else says.” A gentle smile crossed his lips.

 

“I can honestly tell you that my trusting you and loving you is never going to be one of them.”

 

He crossed the room to Bucky, tossing his coat on the bed behind him, and pulled Bucky into a deep, desperate kiss. Bucky melted into the kiss, the fear uncoiling within him and transforming into something heady and bright. Hands pulling Steve in deeper, Bucky honestly couldn’t help the fresh tears that prickled beneath his lids. For once they weren’t tears of fear or pain. It was relief, hope, and dare he say it _happiness._ Bucky had forgotten what the purity of that feeling felt like but in this moment, in this kiss… he felt happiness like never before. Steve had seen the worst of him and he hadn’t turned him away.

 

Steve pulled back reluctantly and breathing heavily. He pulled away just enough to whisper a vow.

 

“I promised you till the end of the line, and I stand by that because for whatever reason I trust you… and I love you so damn much, Bucky. Always.”

 

Bucky felt the last of his pain slip away for just a moment as he smiled; a wide hopeful grin he hadn’t been capable of since he was a boy.

 

“I love you too.”

 

He tilted his head up to meet Steve in a soft, sweet kiss, reaching one hand to clutch at Steve’s waist.

 

Steve draws him flush against his body, so close they were practically one, palm pressing firmly on Bucky’s back. The kiss grew deeper – endless – and Bucky lost himself in the warmth and sensation. He could stay like this all day, wrapped in the other man’s touch and smell.

 

Of course, that’s when a stray thought snuck in and took hold on him. Figures that in the moment all despair had been pushed back he’d get the urge to do one of the few things that terrified him. Maybe it was the high… the feeling that he could be anything, do anything, as long as this man never let go.

 

Bucky tried to kick the stray thought away, wanting to chase this euphoric feeling as long as he could, but it didn’t budge.

 

“You know…” Bucky mused, reluctantly pulling back. “I feel like I could do anything right now. Even swim.”

 

“Make you feel that good?” Steve teased, nipping Bucky’s lower lip.

 

Bucky pulled back, chuckling. “Actually… Yes.” He admitted. There was no point in lying about it. “If you were there… I think I could do it.”

 

It didn’t seem so scary a feat knowing he had Steve at his back.

 

Steve’s brow raised in surprise. “Seriously? Now? Apart from the fact that you’ve got crappy timing and it completely terrifies you - it’s November. It’s freezing outside. The water can’t be much better.”

 

“Actually,” Bucky corrected, “The pool is heated and the ocean water is like, 50 some odd degrees.”  
  
Now that he let the thought take hold, Bucky actually really wanted to do this. Wanted to see if the rest of his fear really could be beaten; if only for a moment.

 

“You’re serious?” Steve frowned. Bucky could understand his reluctance after how Bucky reacted to the storm.

 

“Yes. Come on.” Bucky pulled away from a worried Steve, before he came down from his high and changed his mind. He pulled on a pair of boots and spare coat. There was no point changing completely when he was about to get wet.

 

When he looked up from lacing his boots, Steve was bundled in his coat and scarf, staring at Bucky with worry but there was a glint in his eyes that previously he hadn’t been able to name but could now see it for what it was. Complete trust and love. He couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how he looked at Steve.

 

“You can change your mind at anytime, Buck. You don’t have to do this.” Steve offered.

 

Bucky was grateful, but his mind was made.

 

“Lets go.”

 

He dragged Steve through the house by his hand, stopping periodically to push him against the wall and press an excited kiss to Steve’s mouth. Bucky hadn’t felt like this in years. He would chase the feeling as long as he could before the fear and anxiety inevitably crept its way back inside and refused to budge.

 

Bucky made a beeline for the pool when they left the house, but stopped when Steve grabbed his hand, jerking him close.

 

“Hold up there, cowboy. I want to set the keypad to not lock on us.” Steve swiped his keycard and pressed the buttons, keeping hold on Bucky’s good hand in his other, thumb stroking the inside of Bucky’s wrist.

 

“You know. We should really get Clint to authorize unlimited access to all the rooms but the east wing. Seems a bit unnecessary for you to have to always do this.” Bucky made a mental note to ask Clint the next time he got his friend alone.

 

“Eh. I don’t mind.” He tucked his keycard into his coat, turning his full attention to Bucky.

 

He twisted his grip to lace their fingers together, pulling them up to brush a kiss to the back of Bucky’s hand.

 

Bucky smirked, fully denying the small flutter in his stomach at the gesture.

 

“You’re so cheesy, man.”

 

“Oh yea?” Steve laughed. “Like you don’t like it.”

 

“I don’t know. Got any other cheesy moves to try out?” He taunted, teasingly.

 

Steve hummed in consideration before suddenly dipping Bucky deeply. Bucky barely had time to register the new position before Steve started brushing short, soft kisses to his jawline. Bucky growled at the teasing gesture, pulling Steve’s head down, smashing their lips together. What began as a teasing kiss grew filthier with every nip and groan.

 

Before it could get too intense, a sharp wolf whistle pierced the air, startling them apart.

 

Bucky swung his head around, cursing when he spotted _everyone_ surrounding a portable patio fireplace, drinking a few beers. It’s not that he doesn’t love his friends. He just doesn’t love having them be privy to this particular moment.

 

“Finally!” Clint yelled, raising his bottle in Bucky’s direction. It must have been him who whistled judging by the way Thorin growled irritably at him from his perch.

 

“It’s about damn time man.” He turned to his boyfriend, “Phil, if you and I were this bad, I feel like I should formally apologize to everyone. Cause damn, you two, the tension was getting ridiculous.” He wore a weary, put upon expression, but Bucky knew he was happy for him.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling Steve grudgingly towards the patio, their fingers still laced together. “Nobody was as bad as you two, Barton. The eye-fucking alone before you two hooked up made me feel dirty.”

 

“True.” Clint conceded, unabashed. “Gotta say, bit surprised to see you out and about after only a couple days.” He teased. “Stamina not what it once was?”

Bucky wished he were close enough to smack his friend.

 

“My stamina is fine, asshole.” He flipped him off, not bothering to correct the assumption about what they’d been doing. “I was actually about to try swimming.”

 

He could practically feel the shift in the atmosphere. Phil and Fury remained in their seats, but their gaze turned sharp and wary. Clint nearly dropped his beer in shock and he could vaguely hear Nat choke on her drink.

 

Bucky couldn’t blame them. The last time he’d tried this, just the other week; he’d had a massive panic attack. James had had to take control for days afterwards.

 

“I’ll be okay this time guys, promise. I’ll stop if I feel like I’m gonna panic. I just feel really good about this right now.” Bucky tried to assure them. How did he explain to them that he felt lighter than he had in years?

 

“No. No, no, no.” Clint dropped his bottle on the table, making a beeline for Bucky. “Don’t be stupid man.”

 

“I’m not being stupid.” Bucky argued. Though, to be fair, it’s entirely possible – despite how good he felt - he was being completely stupid, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that if he was going to try this it needed to be now.

 

Clint growled at Bucky’s stubbornness.

 

“Come on Stevie. Tell him this a stupid idea.” He implored Steve, gaze desperate.

 

If the fuss weren’t currently so irritating, Bucky would be touched at the concern his friend was showing.

 

Steve shrugged, grip tightening. “I’ve tried already, man. He’s stubborn. Best I can do is be here if he needs me.”

 

Clint glared. He started to respond but stilled when Nat lightly gripped his shoulder. He shot her a confused glance, but the smaller woman was looking at Bucky contemplatively.

 

“You sure you’re up for this?” She ignored Clint’s squawk and mutterings of devious, red-haired women.

 

“Yes.” Bucky’s answer was firm. No matter how many people asked him.

 

“Ok, then. We’re here if you need us.” She smiled softly and made her way back to the patio dragging a grumbling Clint behind her.

 

Bucky huffed a small laugh at her retreating form.

 

“Well that was less dramatic than I was expecting.” Steve muttered at his side.

 

The two exchanged wry grins and made their way to the poolside. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the others had returned to their conversation but were poised to take action if necessary. What did he do right to earn a family like this?

 

A sudden image of his father and Tony slammed into his mind, which he instantly pushed aside. Not now. He couldn’t think about that just then.

 

“So how do you wanna do this?” Steve asked as Bucky dropped his coat, shivering at the sporadic gusts of wind. Damn. It was freezing.

 

“I’ll just wade in and see how far I can go. If I make it to my waist without totally freaking out I’ll be happy.” Bucky kicked off his boots before pulling off his black pajama pants, leaving him in his briefs and long sleeved shirt. He chuckled when he happened to glance over his shoulder at Steve whose gaze was fixed distractedly on him. Steve jolted when he heard Bucky’s laugh, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks.

 

“Hey. I don’t mind. Feel free to look.” Bucky teased.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, pushing him towards the pool steps, but he didn’t deny it. Smirking, Bucky made his way to the edge. His good mood faded slightly as he stared at the expanse of water before him. He was running on a high – the only reason he was doing this – but at the sight of the water he felt the first stirrings of panic bleed in. He shifted his gaze briefly to Steve, who was standing by his side like a watchful protector. Ok, Buck. You can do this.

 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky took one step into the warm water… and froze.

 

Damnit. Bucky gritted his teeth against the familiar panic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Steve move but he waved him back. No. He could do this. He forced another foot forward and another, being mindful to keep his metal arm above the water. Tony had told him it should be fine in water, but no point in testing it.

 

With every step, the memories and the panic crept up, bleeding through the happy calm he’d started with. At mid-thigh he jolted to a stop as a particular memory of multiple pairs of strong hands holding him under water surfaced. He tried to breathe and use the few decent techniques those therapists had suggested. It helped only slightly.

 

Darkness crept into his vision. His breathing growing more and more ragged. He was distantly aware of whining, sharp barks, and Steve’s voice. Bucky could always turn back. He should turn back. He’d made it this far. Yet, he was determined not to let his fear continue to control him. For several minutes he stood in the water, mid-thigh, till he got his breathing under control and his vision cleared.

 

Each step became harder and took longer to overcome but he refused to back down. He had a goal. He just needed to reach his goal. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, something eased in him and the visual reminder that Steve and his family was at his back. Nothing would hurt him.

 

Of course, it was just his luck that in that moment, when he was one step away from the water brushing against his waist, he tripped. He fell face first into the water, fully submerging. The impact forced all the water up his nose. Instant panic gripped him, pushing away the lingering traces of calm, and everything went quiet.

 

Distantly, Bucky knew he wasn’t in that deep of water, even as he sunk to the bottom of the pool. He could even see the sun past the surface of the water, but it looked like it was miles away.

 

A voice in the back of his head tried to tell him to move. He could get up. No one was holding him down. Bucky focused on that voice, forcing the clawing memories trying to seize him back. It was hard, and the panic was clenching at his chest, but in a split, clear, blessed moment of clarity, he pulled heavy limbs in to position - just managing to kick off the bottom of the pool.

 

He kicked desperately to the surface, nearly crying out when he finally broke the surface after what felt like hours. Desperately gulping in the cool fresh air, Bucky retreated as quickly as his shaking body would allow to the pool steps, pushing himself onto the cold concrete.

 

So much for overcoming another fear, Bucky thought bitterly, focusing on controlling his heavy breathing. The euphoria was all but gone – no longer pushing away all the fear and despair that cloaked him daily. Still, it hadn’t been a total disaster. He hadn’t lost total control. He had survived.

 

Brushing the hair out of his eyes he became suddenly aware of the group of anxious faces watching him warily. These people would help him survive.

 

It was like the sound had suddenly turned back on and he could hear the others talking over each other and Thorin was whining and barking, racing over to him now that he’d emerged from the pool to drape himself over his lap and nuzzle his stomach. Bucky lifted a shaky hand to grip the pup’s white fur. The animal’s affection gave him purchase and something to focus on.

 

When he raised his gaze back to the group, he noticed Natasha and Clint holding back a half clothed, frantic Steve. Had he tried going in after him? Bucky felt a rush of emotion. He mustered a small, unsteady, quirk of a grin as he felt his panicked breathing calm, leaving him drained and exhausted.

 

“Hey…” He whispered, voice hoarse.

 

Steve pushed the others off, rushing to crouch in front of him, frantic eyes running over his form, seemingly looking for some imagined injury or tick.

 

“Stevie. I’m okay.” Bucky tried to offer a comforting smile, but couldn’t quite manage to form his mouth just right. The cold air on his wet skin sent a shiver down his spine.

 

Steve let out a harsh, shaky breath. How long had he been holding that in? Strong arms quickly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. Thorin whined, annoyed at being trapped between them, but didn’t budge.

 

“Don’t scare me like that, man. I knew this was a bad idea.” He whispered in Bucky’s ear.

 

“Hey.” Bucky pulled back, slightly, cupping Steve’s jaw. “I didn’t have an attack. That’s actually surprising progress. I’ll take it. So, you don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“That’s never gonna fucking happen.” Steve growled, eyes blazing and protective. It stirred a tinge of that peace that had previously overwhelmed him to coil itself in his chest in a way that felt permanent.

“Alright, big guy.” Bucky allowed. He was too drained to put up a fight, especially when he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

 

A quick glance over Steve’s shoulder told him the others had made a strategic retreat, seeming to make the call that they could trust him with Steve. The realization only struck home how much this man had wormed his way under all their skin. It seemed crazy how one guy could show up and change their entire lives.

 

Steve frowned when Bucky shook suddenly with an involuntary shiver. The wind was picking up.

 

“We gotta get you inside.”

 

Steve pulled Bucky up, arm wrapped around his waist, draping Bucky’s good arm around his broad shoulders, despite his protests. He marched them to the guesthouse, pausing only to retrieve their scattered clothing. Thorin followed close behind.

 

“You gonna let me walk on my own?” Bucky snarked, half-heartedly. He liked having Steve pressed against him, but he didn’t appreciate feeling like a fainting damsel – no matter how much his legs shook with each step.

 

“No.”

 

“You’re getting soaked.” Bucky argued, “I’m tired, not dead. I can walk on my own.”

 

Steve only gripped him tighter, growling. “I’m not letting you go. You might do something stupid again.”

 

A faint, tired smile split across his lips. “News flash, asshole. I’m always gonna do something stupid. But now I’ve got you to watch my back.”

 

Steve paused, halfway up the stairs, expression mixed with worry and fondness.

 

“You bet your firm ass, you do.”

 

Bucky couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter that escaped him. Steve smirked, reluctantly pulling away to let Bucky stand on his own. He swayed slightly, gripping tightly at the banister and slowly made the rest of the way to Steve’s room.

 

“So, how’s watching my back going for you there, Stevie.” Bucky teased.

 

“The views pretty nice.” Steve responded, without skipping a beat, dropping the small pile of clothes he’d carried up on one of the chairs. Thorin ignored them both, curling up in a ball at the foot of the bed, unwilling to leave him alone.

 

Bucky smirked at Steve’s comment, collapsing onto the middle of the bed, suddenly sleepy. He wouldn’t admit it to an already worried Steve, but the day had drained him. Those last few steps had been like walking through quicksand.

 

Steve’s teasing, fond expression morphed into faint annoyance. “You’re getting the bed all wet, Buck.”

 

He dug through the pile of clothes to locate Bucky’s pajama pants.

 

Bucky shrugged, eyes drooping. “Too tired to change. If it bugs you that much, you’re welcome to do it yourself.” He teased. “Come on Stevie, know you’ve been dying to strip me.”

 

Steve flushed, choking. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined doing it, you know.”

 

He dropped Bucky’s black pants on his lap. Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling off his briefs in one swift motion. Steve flushed darker, twisting to avoid looking at Bucky. Bucky smirked at Steve’s shyness. It was sporadic and, while adorable, Bucky would enjoy curing him of that shyness for good once they actually slept together. Taking pity on him, Bucky quickly replaced the soaking briefs with the warm, dry pants.

 

Still, his thin, long-sleeved shirt stuck to him. Bucky fidgeted with the hem, debating. He could get Steve to throw him a fresh shirt and turn around so he could change but after the day they’d had… Bucky wanted to finally just be himself with Steve – nothing holding him back.

 

He pulled at Steve’s shirt, drawing him onto the bed between his thighs. He’d already shed his sweater and jeans when he’d tried to jump in after Bucky. Avoiding Steve’s gaze he crossed his arms, slowly pulling the soaking shirt over his head. Inch by inch he displayed the ugly, raised scars crisscrossing his torso, back, and chest. Tossing the soaking fabric to the floor, Bucky had to restrain himself from curling in on himself to hide the scars, especially the deformed skin near his shoulder where metal met stump.

 

Gulping, Bucky tentatively lifted his head, raising his gaze to meet Steve’s, hoping not see the disgust in his eyes Bucky felt every time he saw himself in the mirror. Blessedly, he saw no disgust. Steve looked almost curious and…. Sad? He was staring, visually tracing every imperfection, hand hovering – almost itching to touch.

 

His blue eyes flitted up to Bucky’s, questioning. Bucky nodded, stiffly, and tried not to flinch when warm hands touched skin, tracing each blemish and deformity with far more tenderness and care than he deserved. His eyes clenched shut, chest tight with emotion.

 

A drop of water trickled down his face. He immediately suspected his wet hair, but when Steve brushed the drop away, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his eye, he realized he was crying.

Whispering soothing words in his ear, Steve gently pulled Bucky back against plush pillows, wrapping a tight grip around his back, and dipping his head to rest easily against Bucky’s deformed shoulder.

 

He fell asleep like that, curled against Steve’s warmth, laid completely bare for the first time in five years. Something stirred in him and it felt surprisingly like hope.

                          ___________________________________________________________________

Clint tried not to worry when Fury called a meeting with all of them. Especially considering how he’d been forced by Natasha to leave Buck and Rogers. These sorts of team meetings were only held when something had gone completely tits up. At his side, Phil must have sensed his discomfort, curling a pinky around his own. It wasn’t much, but it helped to ease his nerves.

 

“Alright. Lets cut to the chase.” Fury stated, slamming his office door behind him, starting the meeting without preamble. “I know we’re all worried about Barnes after that display by the pool, but how ‘bout we let Rogers handle that one. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

 

So Bucky hadn’t gone postal again. Clint let out a sigh of relief. Thank God. A mission he could handle. That was easy to focus on.

 

“Our friend, Stark has seemed to decide to actually make his ass useful,” Fury growled, “and has tracked down some necessary intel about how we can get Crossbones. Get him and we get Pierce and this hiding ends.”

 

A thrum of anticipation filled the room. Much as they loved Bucky, they missed the real world. Desperate for something other than a steady, constant stream of missions that seemed to go nowhere.

 

“You should know though,” Fury warned.

 

Clint tried not to roll his eyes. Of course there was always something.

 

“Stark also filled me in that our dear Barnes was subject to a form of mind-control conditioning when he was captured.”

 

He frowned. That was terrible, though it explained a lot, but what did it have to do with tracking down Crossbones?

 

At his other side, Nat scoffed, fingers drumming on the arm of the chair the way she did when she was irritated.

 

“Did he happen to tell you who made that serum, Nick?” She drawled.

 

Fury frowned, eyes narrow.

 

“He did, Romanoff, but it seems hardly necessary to the mission parameters.”

 

Nat’s eyes sharpened dangerously. “So you’re trying to tell me Phil and Clint shouldn’t know that the whole reason James exists is because of this serum? That ALL of this is because of that damn serum. Or that it was Stark and Bucky’s father that made the damn thing in the first place?”

 

“The _fuck._ ” Clint shouted. “Seriously?”

 

If Clint had already been pissed at Stark before, he was not envisioning clever new ways to rip his spleen out with a fork. A quick glance to his other side told him Phil was just as pissed. He was dangerously quiet, his eyes taking a sharp edge, pinky drawn tight around his own.

 

Fury ignored the two of them, shooting Nat an annoyed look. “Weren’t you the one who told Barnes to make nice with Tony? Changing your tune already?”

 

“I’m not changing anything. I just recognize that they deserve to know.” Nat argued, calmly.

 

“Fine.” Fury rolled his eyes. “They know. Good job.” Nat bristled. “My _point_ Ms. Romanoff is that this is the big one. Tony is closing in and we’ll have a location soon. The _second_ we track him we’re taking him down and finishing this all for good. We can’t fuck this up. Which means this serum is a colossal fucking problem.”

 

Clint pushed back his anger and annoyance to ask the obvious question.

 

“Can we not just get rid of the serum too?”

 

Fury’s gaze flitted to him. “We’re working on that too Barton. That’s not the problem.”

 

“You ever going to tell us what is?” Phil queried.

 

Fury glared at them. He had never liked being questioned, but right now Clint was tired of the secrets and the need to know information.

 

“He assured me that the serum should be out of his system but its impossible to tell how susceptible Barnes would be to their orders in the field. We’ve kept, as much as possible, about what were doing from Bucky but James is eager for a fight. I don’t recommend we bring him along.”

 

Clint wanted to be a fly on the wall when that conversation went down. He didn’t know James too well, Nat was the only one of them he liked, but he knew how desperate he was to take out Hydra.

 

“He might actually kill you.” Nat mentioned, brow raised. He could almost see the gears spinning in her head. She was planning something.

 

Fury shrugged, unconcerned at the prospect of a trained killer gunning for him.

 

“He can try.”

 

Clint snorted. There was no way this ended well. Still, it was a mission. A mission that might finally mean they could go home. Wherever that was.

 

“Alright. James is gonna kill Fury, we’re gonna take out the big boss. Sounds fun.” He clapped his hands together. “When do we start?”


	15. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which James is torn over his mission. Everyone bonds over snow. And Tony does something stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. First off, I want to thank everyone who has read, commented, etc. I love reading your comments.
> 
> Secondly, I am SO sorry this took so long to update. Seriously. Just over four months. 
> 
> I started a new analyst job right after I updated in December and its been kicking my ass mentally so I hadn't been super motivated. 
> 
> I will do my best not to let so long go before the next chapter is updated! I'm not totally happy with this chapter but you guys have already waited so long.

Bucky easily ceded total control to James upon waking the following morning. Given the events of the previous day, James had anticipated another request for an extension of control – and may have conceded – but was surprisingly and selfishly glad to have regained control of his… _their_ – he corrected himself – body. As James regained control he grew aware of soft breath tickling his bare back, an arm loosely draped across his scarred waist.

 

James instinctively recoiled from the touch, easily removing himself from Steve’s hold. Walking backwards, muscles tense, he quickly put space between him and the slumbering man. It was mere moments before James’ mind calmed and his instinct to fight faded.

 

The last time he’d awoken like this, he’d felt trapped and angry. Despite having later recognized the touch had been gentle, at the time James would have gladly ripped Steve apart for having dared to restrain him in any manner.

 

Yet now… James frowned. The instinct to fight faded as a new puzzling sensation took hold – a distinct feeling of loss, which accompanied a distinct awareness of his cooling skin. His eyes traced Steve’s outline – an unknown desire tingling his skin. He’d never felt such a thing before.

 

Did he… _want_ to be held by this man?

 

No. James put a full stop on that train of thought. He may not fully understand his changing reactions to this man, but it was of no importance. Steve was here for Bucky’s sake. The fact that James no longer hated him was inconsequential. He had a job to do. A mission to complete.

 

Steeling himself, James focused on his mission. The reason he’d requested control in the first place. Having processed the information he gathered from Steve about Hydra, it was time to approach Fury with his plan. Allowing himself to be manipulated by Steve’s charm would only damage his resolve.

 

Quickly changing into appropriate clothing, James left the room – ignoring how it felt more like running away.

 

As he wandered through the silent house, sunrise casting long shadows along the winding hallways, James absently noted how it felt like the calm before the storm.

  
The closer he got to Fury’s office, the more he found an odd sense of doubt clamoring to the surface. He had made this decision, and it was the logical thing to do. Fury would be made aware of Steve’s connection to Hydra, and they would exploit it. James’ stomach gave an unpleasant twinge that he forcibly ignored.

 

Fury obviously knew about Steve’s history as Captain America, but James suspected it was highly unlikely Fury knew about Hydra’s involvement. If he had, James highly doubted he would have allowed Steve so close to their door.

 

But now… They could use Steve. It only made sense to use him, James assured himself. Whatever this odd new sense filling him as he drew closer to Fury’s office, James had to be logical. These new emotions were a weakness he never should have allowed himself to feel.

 

A sharp yell broke through his thoughts as James neared the door. On instinct, James reached for the knife he always kept on him, prepping himself for an attack, and slammed the door open.

 

Expecting to see some sort of struggle, James was thrown to see no sign of a fight…. No struggle… no blood. Rather, all he saw was Fury pacing, barking furiously into his phone.

 

Fury paused in his tirade to shoot James, who had only barely started to lower his knife, a wary gaze.

 

“You’re not here to kill me, are you?” Fury asked. “Only, I’m a little busy.” He gestured to his phone.

 

James shook his head - muscles still tense, and sheathed the knife.

 

“Good.” Fury waved towards a chair, returning his focus to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

 

“Look, I don’t care that you’ve got more money than God,” Fury snapped into the receiver.

 

James eyed the seat for a moment, considering Fury’s deteriorated mood. Perhaps this discussion could be tabled for a time in which the other man was calm enough to consider his proposal. Yet… somehow he knew if he walked away, he would never propose this. The thought of a warm embrace struck him. Perhaps…

 

No.

 

James gritted his teeth, strengthening his resolve. He had let that man thaw him too much. Allowed the stirrings of attachment to form.

 

This needed to stop. He wasn’t Bucky. The mission came first. It had too.

 

Fury slammed his hand down on the table harshly, seemingly resisting the urge to throw his encrypted phone across the room. James quirked a questioning brow, “Sir?”

 

“The sheer _arrogance_ and _stupidity.”_ Fury muttered harshly to himself, ignoring James.

 

James eyed him in carefully concealed irritation, metal grip giving an involuntary twitch. Stark had programmed the arm to respond to his neural commands and impulses and James hadn’t quite learned how to keep it still.

 

“Sir.” James repeated, tonelessly. He needed to get this over with while his resolve remained strong. He didn’t have time to deal with Fury throwing an out of character bitch-fest.

 

“I wish to discuss a strategy to lure out Hydra.”

 

Fury stopped mid-rant, eyes snapping to meet James’. They were cold, calculating.

 

“Excuse me?” Fury scoffed, “I thought we talked about this. You don’t get to be involved unless I say so.”

 

James refused to back down or buckle under Fury’s boring gaze. He’d suffered under far more intimidating glares under Pierce. Fury was not his master.

 

“Given the lack of activity in the past few days,” James continued, as if Fury hadn’t spoken, “it has become clear your leads are drying up. Either Hydra is in hiding or nobody is talking.”

 

Fury opened his mouth to retort, but James simply barreled on. It would be best to get this out before his resolve weakened. Before James forgot his training and allowed himself to consider putting something before the mission. It was an urge that had become increasingly, and troublingly persistent.

 

“I’ve recently gained some knowledge that may provide us with a useful advantage in drawing Hydra out. I have learned of someone they may want enough to come out of their recent seclusion. ”

 

This was it. Just a few words and he’d be back on track. He’d probably ruin the only real attachment he had – sans Bucky. It would be for the best. Attachments were meaningless. The mission came first. It was Hydra’s first lesson, and James repeated it like a mantra to combat the clench of guilt swarming him.

 

It was shameful how decisively one simple, ordinary man had broken the Winter Soldier. Pierce would have been disgusted. As disgusted, perhaps, as James was that he knew – for some small part of him - Pierce’s opinion still mattered.

 

“Last I checked, kid.” Fury growled, before James could continue. “You agreed to back off if Rogers stuck around. Don’t forget, you’re just a soldier. Any insight you have is welcome, but don’t make the mistake that you’ll be calling any of the shots. I’m the one that tells you where to shoot and when to shoot. I give your orders, and your orders, Barnes, are to back off and keep Bucky happy.”  


James scoffed, gripping the back of the chair in front of him as his carefully controlled resolve gave way in the wake of an urge to wrap his hands around a dark column of skin that he imagined would crush easily beneath his metal grip.

 

“I haven’t done much shooting lately, _Sir._ You have kept me here as little more than a caged animal.” Memories of a previous cage swarmed to his mind. He pushed them down. “This cage may be kinder, but I will not trade one leash for another.”

 

Pierce and Hydra might have dug their way into him in ways he would never be able to fully cut out, but James would be damned if he would bow to him or another man ever again.

 

Fury eyed the way the wooden frame of the chair splintered under his grip. “So you’ve said. That doesn’t change my opinion. The team has Hydra handled. I’ve got a plan in place to draw out Crossbones, so don’t worry you’re pretty little head about that. Besides,” Fury narrowed his eyes, “I’m not so stupid as to send you on a mission and practically deliver you right to them. Focus on Bucky. You’re good at that.”

 

Fury shifted his focus to the stack of papers littering his desk.

 

“I don’t want to have this conversation again, Barnes.” James knew this was a blatant dismissal - Fury’s attempt to end the conversation – but James would no longer be pushed aside.

 

His full body thrummed with anger. Five years. Five years of sitting by the sidelines, unable to fight back against the people who had damaged Bucky. Who had ruined James from the start. Turned him into a weapon, devoid of choice and feeling to be pointed and fired on demand. Turned him into an attack dog with no knowledge of how to even be a friend or to properly care about someone beyond a fucking mission.

 

Burning Hydra to the ground would not bring him peace. Would not change how unnatural his existence was. The memories would never fade and he would never be any semblance of ‘happy’. Still. It was all he had, and he was done with it being denied to him.

 

“You refuse and refuse.” His tone was harsh and cold, nearly trembling from anger. He could only guess at his expression from the flinch that crossed Fury’s face. “Thus far, I’ve been patient. I have _allowed_ you to call the shots, but no longer. I _will_ be involved. Or I will leave, and you will never find me.” He vowed.

 

Fury snorted, brow raised mockingly. “Threatening to leave. It’s been a few months since you used that threat. The thing is, I didn’t believe you then and I still don’t believe you. You wouldn’t do that to Bucky. Especially not when he’s finally getting better. He needs his family.”

 

James bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I don’t need you to protect Bucky. He and I may have reached an agreement but I will back out in a second if it will finally end this. It would be too easy to take control and let him sleep till this is all over with. This isn’t a few months ago, Nicholas. This is now, and I am done waiting.”

 

It would be unpleasant, wrenching Bucky away from his family, from Steve. James would be giving up a chance of one day having a friend. The chance to one day understand the odd stirrings and emotions he couldn’t name. Stirrings he consistently forced down in deference to the mission.

 

It was the first thing drilled into him as the Winter Soldier, and it was a lesson that James had never quite been able to shake. Attachments made you weak. Emotions compromised you. The mission was the only priority.

 

Burning Hydra to the ground was his mission. It had been since he’d been aware enough to realize what Hydra did to him. Revenge may not bring him peace, but it would give him something as close to closure as he would ever be allowed.

 

He had grown too comfortable in this home. He had mistakenly allowed himself to believe maybe there was another way. He had begun to want another way. If Fury turned him down, none of that would matter.  
  
He was a fool for allowing Steve to influence him. A fool to consider he would be allowed to have wants and desires. No. It seems he’d only over be allowed the mission.  


Fury took a cautious seat, weighing James’ words, as he seemed to finally register the severity of the situation.

 

Several minutes passed, neither dropping their gaze, refusing to back down.

 

Realizing this could be his last chance, James allowed himself, for just a moment, to feel everything he had been pushing down: Every wistful thought and temptation, his increasing affection for Steve, how he’d secretly hoped Steve was right. That he could be allowed to want things for himself beyond the mission. For just a moment he considered what he could have if he cast off Hydra’s first lesson. If for the first time in his existence he put something before the mission. His eyes burned with the great expanse of feeling and potential that overwhelmed him.

 

Though he would leave, if it came down to it, there was a secret, desperate, part of James that wished Fury would back down. Now that he allowed himself to truly feel things he’d never thought he’d been capable of, the part of him that truly wanted to stay was screaming out to cast off Hydra’s first lesson for good. That quiet, selfish part of him wasn’t ready to give up the chance to be more than the Soldier.

 

It was just a moment, but in that moment James felt, for the first time, like a man – not a broken weapon. Shutting that man away into a dark corner in preparation for Fury’s answer was almost a physical ache.

 

It felt cold and wrong to slip back into the Soldier after the moment of intense feeling. It surprised him, the desperation not to lock it away. Yet, he needed to be prepared. No matter Fury’s answer he had a mission to complete.

 

Fury broke eye contact, scowling. His shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh of frustration. His lips parted to form the words that would direct the course James would take. His grip, still tight on the splintered chair, grew even tighter, splinters breaking off into his skin.

 

It did not matter to the Soldier. Only what Fury said next.

 

“Okay,” Fury responded, tightly, as if the words were being dragged out of him. “You win. Tell me what you know.”

 

In a tiny corner of his own mind, the phantom of the man he could be cried in relief. Now wasn't the time, but it seemed there might yet be a future where he could learn to be something more. For now though, the soldier was finally going to get his revenge.

* * *

The crisp, late December air whipped by him, as Steve tilted his head up, catching snowflakes on his tongue as though he were five once again, seeking wonder in the slightest things. In truth, there was a lot to seek pleasure in over the past few weeks. For the first time since his father’s suicide, the weight of his past was light.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, several yards away, he spotted James dressed in thick leathers, heavy boots, and dark wash jeans tossing a ball across the vast yard, which had become a winter wonderland over night. Thorin was a white blur amidst the deep snow as he ran after it. Steve’s lips twitched in a soft, pleased smile. It was the first time in weeks that the man had chosen not to hide away, and Steve had missed him. Especially since James had spent those weeks blatantly refusing all attempts Steve had made to reach out.  


That wasn’t to say he wasn’t thoroughly happy – happier than he’d ever been – to wake almost every morning to Bucky, a man he loved, wrapped in his arms. Yet he’d also found comfort in the other mornings.

 

The other mornings in which Steve awoke to James perched by the window, a dark shadow seemingly keeping guard, yet always out of reach. In the early hours of those odd mornings, Steve couldn’t help but feel protected and cared for and it lent him a surprising sense of comfort he had only thought he’d feel in Bucky’s embrace.

 

Still, Steve was surprised by how much he had been hurt when, those first couple days after Bucky tried to swim, James had withdrawn, the burgeoning friendship between them seemingly halted. Throughout the days when he was given control, James had hardly been around, disappearing to unknown places when he wasn’t huddled in quiet conversation with Fury.

 

Steve’s soft smile turned wistful as he watched Thorin drop the ball at James’ feet, yelping happily when the other man tentatively reached out with his gloved hand to carefully stroke the pup’s fur. At least James was letting someone in - even if it was no longer going to be him.

 

“I never thought I’d see the day.” Clint remarked, appearing noiselessly at his side in a way that always made Steve jump.

 

“Come again?” Steve frowned, confused.

 

Clint shrugged, gesturing at James playing with Thorin.

 

“Mr. Maim and Murder over there.” He quipped. “All gentle and shit. Playing out in the snow like a normal person.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, voice a bit tense. “He’s not a psychopath, Clint. He is capable of doing things that are, as you so rudely put it, ‘normal’.”

 

Clint didn’t reply, just hummed thoughtfully as he eyed Steve, his brows furrowed.

 

The tense moment was broken as Phil and Nat poured out of the house, dressed in thick, fashionable, winter clothes. Natasha had tucked her thick, red curls under a knitted cap to keep them from flying about in the wind.

 

“Hey sleepy-heads!” Clint yelled over his shoulder, face splitting into a wide grin, conversation seemingly forgotten.

 

“Why are we out here, instead of inside where it’s warm, Barton?” Natasha grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest and teeth slightly chattering.

 

“What, you don’t like snow? How very un-Russian of you.” He teased, kneeling down to scoop a handful of the white powder.

 

Nat glowered at him, pulling her knit cap down even further down around her ears. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, Barton, I will skewer you.”

 

Steve saw where this was going. He chuckled, despite himself. There was just something amusing about the normally stoic, won’t flinch when she burns her had on the oven, woman visibly fuming about something as innocuous as snow.

 

“What? You don’t wanna play?” Clint didn’t even flinch underneath the glare, smile wide and mischievous. Before Steve could blink, Clint had thrown a large ball of powdered snow with surprising accuracy at Nat’s chest.

 

Natasha let out a startled, angry yelp, her eyes wide in surprise.

 

Clint doubled over laughing. Phil, from his spot at Nat’s side, snorted softly and shot Clint an affectionate, yet admonishing look.

 

“Ok, Clint. It’s been a good run, but I’m going to kill you now.” She tackled Clint, catching him by surprise mid-laugh.

 

“Um…” Steve glanced over at Phil, who was watching the increasingly violent grapple with exasperation. “Should we stop this?”

 

Phil gave a put upon sigh. “Probably.”

 

A braver man than Steve, Phil waded in, waiting for Nat to lean back just enough for him to gently pull her off.

 

She bucked a bit, before quickly relaxing. She was still fuming, her bright red hair whipping in the wind – her hat having fallen off in the fight. On the ground, Steve was surprised to see, Clint was still smirking, eyes bright with laughter.

 

Clint pulled himself up, wiping the snow off his now damp jeans. “Come on Nat,” Clint prodded, smile softening to something almost wistful, “it’s almost Christmas and we actually have time to enjoy it for once. Can’t we just be kids for a minute and have a snowball fight? God knows we never got the chance when we were actually kids.”

 

Natasha’s glower softened and Steve’s heart lurched at the admission. They never talked about how they grew up, only that it hadn’t been ideal. Even as a sick child, where going out in the winter without being properly bundled could have killed him, Steve had gotten to still enjoy the taste of fresh snowfall and playing with his family in the yard.

 

“Yea,” Steve spoke up. It was stupid and childish, but with all the drama in their lives they deserved to do something stupid and childish. “Come on Nat. It’d be fun. You can be on my team.”

 

Clint shot him a grateful look. Natasha sighed, twisting her hair back into her cap.

 

“Fine. Either way, I get to kick your ass.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes, “In you’re dreams sweetheart. I mean, I’ve got Phil and you’ve got Rogers. I think we’ve got this.” His gaze darted to Steve, “No offense.”

 

Steve shrugged, “None taken.” It was probably true.

 

“Not necessarily.” Nat smirked, gesturing at something behind Steve. Or someone.

 

Steve looked over his shoulder, having fully expected James to have disappeared, and was surprised to still see him just a few yards away. He was staring at their group with a carefully blank face and ignoring Thorin, who was pawing at his thigh.

 

Clint chortled, “Right. OK. Whose gonna ask him?”

 

“Steve.” Nat rolled her yes, the ‘Duh’ heavily implied.

 

Steve started, Him? Steve opened his mouth to protest. He wanted James to join them, but James had been deliberately ignoring him for weeks. He wasn’t about to run over there just to be shot down, again.

 

“This I gotta see.” Clint smirked. “Ok then Stevie, you tell me grumpy over there can do normal stuff, yea? Prove it.”

 

Steve’s jaw snapped shut. He had the sense he was being goaded, but the sudden urge to actually prove them wrong was strong. James may not be Bucky, but he wasn’t a monster either.

 

“Fine.” He gritted out, turning on his heel and making a beeline for James.

 

As he drew close he saw a tremor of surprise cross James’ face. It was apparent in the shift of his limbs that he wished to retreat.

 

How had they gotten back to this? Had they not been friends of a sort?

 

James had always been prickly, and their tentative friendship had sometimes been awkward, yet he missed the snark and they way they challenged each other. Truthfully, deep down, he missed being the one who could drag James out of his own head and try to embrace the world.

 

Steve stopped a couple feet away, not wanting to spook the other man, his hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets. Thorin stopped pawing at Steve’s approach, running over to him. Steve crouched down to pet the dog, glancing up beneath his lashes to see James’ cautious stare. Grabbing Thorin’s ball, Steve threw it towards the others. Thorin chased after it gleefully.

 

Steve noted the way James’ gaze tracked the animal. He had been a good gift.

 

“Hey.” Steve finally said, trying to smile; it felt thin.

 

“Rogers.” James’ voice was even, controlled. He was giving nothing away. He held himself stiff, much the same way he did during that night they fought. Sometimes, Steve was struck by how different Bucky and James were, despite being the same body. They moved differently, spoke differently. It should have been weirder for him to look at Bucky’s body and see someone else.

 

On some levels it was, his body reacting to Bucky’s instinctively, regardless of who was in control. On others Steve didn’t mind. He’d allowed himself to care about the both of them and wasn’t ready to loose either one. His old therapist would probably have something to say about that, but Steve didn’t care.

 

“So… um… The others want to have a snowball fight. Fancy joining my team?” Steve asked.

 

James’ gaze sharpened. “No.” He turned to leave and Steve couldn’t take it anymore. His hand shot out to stop him before he could really think about what he was doing.

 

James froze mid turn, eyes narrowed at where Steve’s hand was grasping his arm.

 

Steve quickly released him, “Sorry. I just…” He scratched his neck nervously under James’ icy glare.

 

“Look,” He said, “It’ll be fun. We could all use a little more fun in our lives, don’t you think?”

 

James eyes narrowed.

 

“Throwing snow at each other is supposed to be _fun_?” James’ tone suggested he wasn’t trying to be mocking and truly didn’t know the answer.

 

Steve shrugged. “Perhaps not the act itself, but you’d get free reign to kick Clint and Phil’s ass. That’s always fun.”

 

James’ lips gave a faint twitch and his glare lessened, but he didn’t respond.

 

Steve sighed, frustrated. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I’m not asking you to tell me. I just… I thought we were friends. Friends do this sort of thing together and have fun together and I… well…” Steve bit his lip, wondering how honest he should be. This might be his only chance for a while. “I miss you, James.”

 

The other man jerked, surprise and half a dozen other emotions splayed out across his expression for just a moment. If Steve hadn’t been looking for a chink in the armor, he might never have noticed, but he had and he hated seeing him retreat into that cool, hard shell. There was so much more to him than that.

 

“Do not mistake civility for friendship, Rogers.” James’ voice was flat and empty, gaze shuttered and empty. Too empty.

 

Steve’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t have read everything over the past few months so wrong. He had to believe that James, despite his behavior, felt the odd bond that had begun forming between them and didn’t really wish to cast it away.

 

“Let me remind you, I only tolerate you for Bucky’s sake. Why must you keep pushing and make this harder than necessary?”

 

Steve shook his head. He understood the words being said to him, but he refused to accept their meaning. He didn’t understand how or when or why he’d begun to care so much when, not even a few weeks ago, he couldn’t stand James.

 

Sam, like his mother, had accused him many times of trying to see the good where there was none. Even when Rumlow betrayed him, Steve had still tried to see the good in him. It was Sam that had had to knock him over the head and make him see sense. Sam would have told him to back away from this a long time ago, but Steve was always stubborn. He would believe James was more than he pretended, even when no one else would.

 

“I guess… I guess I just don’t believe you. You let me in – I know you did – and I let you in. You can push me away but I’m not going to cut you out.”

 

James growled, metal fist clenching, but Steve held his ground. It was surreal – All this over a stupid snowball fight.

 

“Why won’t you walk away? I’m telling you to go, but you refuse.” James snapped, blue eyes flinty. The snow was starting to pick up, and snowflakes landed on his lashes, blurring Steve’s vision. “Everyone walks away.”

 

“I’m not everyone.” Steve protested. “I’ve seen you James. I know there’s someone you bury down deep. You’re not a monster and you’re allowed to have friends.”

 

James’ entire body flinched, as though Steve had touched a raw nerve. His armor cracked, confusion and anger breaking through.

 

“Look.” Steve backed off. “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I just wanted to be able to hang out with you for once. Besides, it’s just a game. I don’t care what they, whoever they is, tried to tell you. You’re allowed to have fun.” James eyes narrowed.

 

“Just let me be your friend, James. Let the other’s try to be your friend.” He all but pleaded.

 

James ducked his head, tense shoulders hunching over. “If I refuse?” He whispered, not looking at Steve.

 

“Then I’ll go back over there and try again tomorrow.” Steve frowned. “There is nothing I can do to stop you from shutting everything and everyone out. I can’t force you to want things for yourself, but...”

 

“Yet you do a remarkable job of trying.” He retorted, drily.

 

“James…” Steve started.

 

James straightened up, shaking his head and fixing Steve with an annoyed stare. “You are placing quite a remarkable amount of emotional manipulation and philosophical debate on a minor, ridiculous snow fight.”  
  
Steve nearly sighed with relief. It wasn’t a no. “Perhaps.” He quipped. “The question is, is it working?” Steve just wanted his friend back. Wanted to take those walls down piece by piece and destroy them so it could never be rebuilt.

 

James tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment before straightening up and shocking Steve by making a beeline for the others. Clint looked surprised for a moment before groaning and handing a smug Natasha what looked like a crisp bill.

 

“Do not mistake this for friendship Steven. Your persistence has simply worn me down.”

 

Steve’s face split into a wide grin, resisting the urge to punch the air. James would likely run off again, but for now, it was progress.

 

The fight started off friendly and teasing, minor hits here and there, before quickly devolving into a brutal war game. Steve, who had started off with a fighting chance, was forced to quickly go on the defensive. Honestly though, he should have expected nothing less from a group of highly trained soldiers.

 

As the fight progressed, Steve found himself retreating to the sidelines more and more to avoid swift shots to the face.

 

“Quitting already Rogers?” Clint teased, ducking as James threw a ball at his head.

 

“I think my team mates have got the offensive covered, Barton.” He chuckled, falling back to hide behind a tree on the edge of the woods to watch and catch his breath.

 

Nat and James moved in perfect synchronization, twisting and turning. Their aim was remarkable. Phil took the low ground, weaving through them to pelt them as much as possible. Clint took his fun in searching out strategic spots from which to throw snow at ankles. Steve could only imagine the damage they had done with real weapons in their hands, rather than snowballs.

He knelt down to gather some snow in his freezing hands when a blistering cold stung his cheek. Wiping the snow away, Steve straightened up, a teasing threat to Clint on his lips.

 

Except it wasn’t Clint who’d hit him. The words died on his lips when he caught sight of James, eyebrow raised mockingly.

 

“I hope you don’t expect us to do all the work for you?” He called out, “Of course, with aim like yours…”

 

Steve snorted, grinning widely, and pushed his fingers, frozen beneath his wet gloves, deep into the snow. James had already turned around by the time he glanced back up. He was grateful the falling snow had lightened just enough so his vision wasn’t too hazy as he took aim at the other man.

 

_SMACK_

Direct hit! Steve chuckled, proud at his aim as the snowball made contact with the back of James’ head.

 

James’ hunched over in surprise, glaring over his shoulder at Steve; ice cold water dripping down his hair and onto his leather jacket.

 

Steve smirked, “That aim good enough for you, buddy?”

 

James growled in annoyance, making a run for Steve.

 

Steve barely registered the other man moving before he was falling flat on his back in the snow. He tried to move only to find James had his knees locked around his hips and was pinning him to the cold, wet ground. His body a furnace around Steve’s by comparison.

 

A handful of wet snow was being shoved into his face, and Steve bucked instinctively as the cold sunk into his skin. If this had been 10 years ago Steve would have been seriously concerned about catching pneumonia.

  
“Ugh. What the hell, man?” Steve snapped, shaking his head to clear the snow from his vision.

 

His complaints died on his tongue as his vision cleared to find James’ face was inches from his own, a faint – almost proud – smirk on his lips.

 

“That fun enough for you, _buddy_?”

 

His brain stuttered for a moment, and his body shuddered at the cool, contemplative look in the other man’s shining blue gaze.

 

“Did you just…” A startled laugh escaped Steve. “Did you just make a joke?”

 

James hummed softly, but didn’t answer. They lay like that for a long moment, just breathing and watching each other. James looked flushed, eyes bright despite his cool look, and the almost constant tense line of his shoulders seemed relaxed. He vaguely registered the others had stopped playing and were watching them, prepped to step in if James made a wrong move.

 

Steve didn’t know what he was supposed to do. His body shuddered again as snow seeped into his coat. That seemed to jolt James out of whatever trance he’d lost himself in and saved Steve from having to make a decision.

 

James released him, standing quickly and, after a moment of indecision, extended a gloved hand to Steve who accepted it gratefully. With the loss of James’ warmth, the cold seeped quickly into his skin, down deep into his bones. He shivered beneath his soaking clothes.

 

He didn’t mind though. It was worth it to see James let down his walls even a crack.

 

James frowned when Steve’s teeth started chattering. Metal fingers reached out to brush lingering snow of Steve’s face on instinct, surprising them both. James narrowed his eyes at the hand as though it had betrayed him, withdrawing it quickly.

 

“Um… Right. Well,” James gave an uncharacteristically nervous cough. “This wasn’t terrible. Goodbye Rogers.” James straightened up; nodding slightly before making what could only be described as a hasty retreat.

 

Steve could only stare after him, dumfounded.

 

The others made their way over to him, snow fight completely forgotten. Clint seemed worried. Phil was impassive but a slight furrow in his brow suggested he too had been concerned. Natasha, on the other hand, walked with a slight bounce to her step, a teasing smirk on her lips.

 

“Hey, you alright?” Clint patted him down, eyes flitting up and down, probably checking to see if he had any injuries.

 

Steve waved him off. “I’m fine. He was just messing with me.”

 

Clint didn’t look completely convinced, but he didn’t question it. To be fair, for Clint, James had probably never been someone who ‘messed with people’ as much as ‘messed people up.’

 

“I suppose that’s one way to end a fight.” Natasha teased.

 

Steve flushed, crossing his arms tight for warmth as he felt another shudder go through him. “Sorry, we can go again.”

 

“Nah.” Phil chuckled drily, tucking an arm around his worried boyfriend’s waist. “I’m getting beat and you look like you’ve had enough. Besides, as much fun as it’d be to watch Clint and Nat try to one up each other, it’s almost lunch,” He gestured back to the main house, “and I for one am hungry.”

 

The mention of food seemed to distract Clint, who brightened considerably.

 

“We still have all those leftovers, right?”

 

They made their way back to the main house, Phil and Nat bickering over who had better form during the fight. She had several, um, suggestions about how Phil could improve his aim.

 

Steve chuckled, listening to their good-natured debate, warmth spreading through his chest as he thought of James, Bucky, and the others and how he felt like he’d found a family again. A loud, brash, and somewhat invasive family, but it was his.

 

“Hey.” Clint fell back to walk next to Steve.

 

“I’m really fine, man. You don’t have to worry.” Steve assured him.

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about you and grumpy pants’ freaky friendship. No,” His cheeks reddened, “I uh, actually wanted to be the intrusive best friend and ask how you and Buck are doing.”

 

Steve’s body warmed for far less innocent reasons.

 

“It’s um…” Steve stuttered. “It’s going really good.”

 

Steve rushed forward, avoiding Clint’s knowing gaze, to step through the open back door.

 

“Wasn’t asking about the sex,” Clint laughed, “but it’s nice to know he hasn’t lost his touch.”

 

Steve choked on air as he stripped out of his heavy wet coat and gloves. He perched on the arm of the couch, unable to quite look Clint in the eye. Fortunately, Phil and Nat had already turned the corner. This wasn’t exactly a conversation he wanted broadcasted to the whole house.

 

“We actually haven’t, um” Steve didn’t understand why he was being such a blushing virgin about this. He and Sam had had no shame in exchanging stories about what they got up to “between the sheets”. All he could figure was that it had been too many years since the prospect of sex with someone had been about more than just getting off with someone.

 

“You know we haven’t actually, um… actually done anything, right? I mean, we came close but there were some…” Steve frowned at the memory, “Complications.”

 

Clint frowned, “what kind of complications?”

 

“Nothing to worry about, really.” Steve assured him, quickly. He didn’t know that Bucky would appreciate him spilling the details about that night. No, if Bucky wanted Clint to know, he would tell him himself.

 

“It’s really just been about being together.” Steve smiled, softly.

 

“Ugh. The two of you.” Clint looked vaguely nauseated. “You two are so sickeningly precious.”

 

Steve chucked a wet glove at Clint’s chest. It made a squelching sound as it made contact. Clint raised a brow, “Really, Stevie?”

 

“What? Besides, from what I hear you and Phil weren’t any better. Still aren’t to be honest.” If he had a dollar for every lingering glance or times he’d walked down a corridor to find them practically canoodling in a corner.

 

“Ah, don’t be jealous. You kids’ll get there someday.” Clint smirked.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to chuck the second one at Clint’s face.

 

“So you two love birds are sickeningly happy. I’m glad.” Clint looked genuinely relieved. He shifted out of his coat, dropping onto the couch beside Steve with a short sigh. Steve thought of how worried he would be if it was Sam in Bucky’s place and gave Clint’s shoulder a light squeeze.

 

“I just worry sometimes. With everything he’s been through, there were some days I thought maybe…” Clint bit his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s just say he’s been a lot better since he met you. They both have.”

 

Steve sunk into the seat beside Clint, hand still gently grasping the other man’s shoulder.

 

“He’s strong, Clint. He’ll be okay. How could he not be with friends like you?”

 

Clint smiled, gratefully, “Thanks, man.”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

The silence stretched out for a beat, before Clint shifted his expression to a jovial mask – clearly wanting to shift the topic off of himself.

 

“Since we’re talking about it.” He cleared his throat, his lips curving into a smirk, eyes glinting. “As Bucky’s best friend and all, I have to ask, you’re not” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper, eyes exaggeratingly wide with false concern, “a eunuch or something.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, seriously reconsidering not throwing the second glove in Clint’s face. “No, you asshole.”

 

“So why hasn’t he gotten laid yet? God knows he needs to.”

 

He felt his cheeks flush, whether from annoyance, embarrassment or both – he couldn’t tell.

 

“Is this really any of your business?”

 

Clint shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe not. You should tell me anyway.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. To be honest, he probably did need to talk to someone about this.

 

“I just…I know how I would’ve done this if I’d met him on the street or something. But here? I don’t know. I guess after everything a part of me was wanting to build something solid before bringing sex into it.”

 

Clint hummed, nodding in understanding. “I get that.”

 

“It doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Fuck knows I really want to.” It had tested his resolve to wake up pressed against Buck, to spend most days around the teasing, gorgeous man and not give into the urges surging through him. Every time something held him back.

 

“I just… this is so stupid. I feel like a dumb teenager freaking out about their first time but… With everything he’s been through I guess I want it to be special for him. I didn’t want it to be about the past or coping, or…” Steve broke off, cursing at the slip.

 

Clint’s brow furrowed but he didn’t call him out on it.

 

“Um… anyway. Yea. I don’t know. There is a high chance I’m over thinking this….” Probably a 130% chance.

 

“Yes and no.” Clint sighed. “Look, ---“

 

Whatever Clint was about to say was interrupted by Phil rushing into the room, flanked by an agitated Fury.

 

“Phil?” Clint frowned at his boyfriend, rising to his feet. “What is it?”

 

Phil opened his mouth to respond, but paused, sparing Steve a cautious glance.

 

“I need you and Phil to check the perimeter.” Fury answered instead. “It looks like some of our tech is damaged and needs some special TLC. Think you two can handle it?”

 

The looks the three exchanged suggested much more was involved than some damaged tech around the perimeter. Steve wanted to ask, to finally understand what all the hushed conversations and double meanings were really about, but knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

 

Clint turned to Steve, frowning.

 

“Steve… I’m sorry. I need to go.”

 

“Don’t apologize. Duty calls and all that, right?” He shrugged. “Really, I’ll be fine. More leftovers for me, right?” He joked, a vain attempt to try and dispel some of the tension.

 

Clint’s lips twitched. “You touch that cake and you will be a eunuch.”

  
Steve raised a brow, “Not sure Bucky would like that.”

 

“He’ll survive. Not like he’s using it much at the moment.” Clint responded good-naturedly

 

“Barton” Fury barked from the other side of the room, impatient to leave.

 

“I’ll meet you there.” Clint snapped over his shoulder, eyes narrowed slightly.

 

Fury rushed forward, but was stopped by Phil, who guided him out the door. He held up two fingers to Clint, who nodded before turning his attention back to Steve.

 

“Everything ok?” Steve asked, thrown by the unusually hostile display.

 

“Fine. Look, what I was gonna say.” Clint sighed. “Stop freaking out. For people like us, we can use sex for all the wrong reasons. That doesn’t mean we can’t use it for all the right ones too.” He clapped a firm hand to Steve’s shoulder, “Take it from someone who has been there. You two will be fine.”

 

With that he left, rushing out of the room to tackle whatever new mysterious problem had arisen, leaving Steve with a great deal more to consider than his roller coaster of a relationship with James.

* * *

 Phil stood silently, just inside the doorway, watching Pepper and Tony bicker.

 

“How is our patient?” A freshly showered Clint asked, joining him. Faint red lines crossed his cheek from where a knife had barely grazed him.

 

That ‘tech damage’, as it turned out, was saving Tony Stark’s ass.

 

Phil had been with Fury when he got the call from Stark saying he’d ignored all of Fury’s warnings and gone after the serum himself. Fury’s hastily worded explanation to Phil and Clint as they sped through winding streets revealed the lab downtown was less civilian run than Tony’s shoddy Intel had led him to believe and he was one four inch metal door away from being shot in the face.

 

It had been a tricky extraction.

 

“Pepper is trying to get him to go to a hospital, but Tony is insisting on staying here. Bruce examined him earlier and seems to think he can handle this alone, on the premises.”

 

Clint nodded, “Good. Less attention we draw to this, the better.” He flicked his eyes up to Phil, “And you? How are you doing?”

 

Phil absently pulled at the dressing on his left arm where a bullet had grazed him.

 

“It’s fine. All stitched up. Nothing to worry about.” He reassured the other man.

 

Clint frowned, running a hand anxiously through wet hair. “I wish you’d stop getting shot.”

 

Phil wrapped his good arm around Clint’s shoulders, tucking him into his side. He didn’t respond to Clint’s remark, unsure what to say. Getting shot at was part of the job, and sometimes the bullets hit.

On some level, they both knew it was a matter of time before one of them didn’t make it home. Phil knew that better than anyone after nearly being stabbed to death just over a year ago. Still, they would fight to come home in as close to one piece as possible until they no longer had a reason to fight.

 

“Feathers! Kind of you to join us.” Tony shouted, drawing their attention, seemingly looking for a new conversation partner to avoid Pepper’s angry worrying.

 

“Stark.” Clint responded, his tone cool. He’d never quite forgiven Tony’s words from just a few months ago.

 

“Any news from Fury?”

 

Fury had stayed behind to cover their tracks while they brought Tony home for medical attention.

 

“Between the notes and vials you destroyed, and the explosives Phil set, the lab seems to be fairly destroyed. Fury did mention a couple men showed up who seemed… “ Clint searched for what was probably a cleaner recitation of what Fury had told him. “Less than pleased at the loss of the lab. He’s going to look into them and see what leads he can dig up.”

 

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. “So it wasn’t a total fuck up, then.”

 

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “You could’ve died. We _all_ could have died.” He gritted out. “You’re not equipped to do these sorts of missions. What were you _thinking_?”

 

“I was thinking I’d been on the side lines long enough.” Tony retorted, face flushing.

 

Clint snorted, derisively, pushing himself away from Phil to stare a battered Tony down. “What? We’re not doing an adequate enough job, for you? Had to step in and play hero? You don’t know what you’re doing. Oh, but I forgot. I’m just a sorry excuse for an agent. What do I know?”

 

Tony flinched, frustration fading.

 

Phil felt a small twinge of satisfaction at Tony’s discomfort. He knew how much those words had hurt his boyfriend.

 

Pepper, however, looked decidedly uncomfortable. She strode towards the doorway to leave the room, gently tugging at his good arm to follow her.

  
“Lets give them some space to hash this out, alright.”

 

Phil followed, reluctantly. He was inclined to back Clint up in this fight, but Pepper looked like she needed a break.

 

He followed her to the kitchen and watched, concerned, as she tried and failed to make a simple pot of coffee. Her hands were shaking too badly. Pepper had always been a pillar of strength and resilience. He’d never seen her fall apart so completely.

 

He took over from her, gesturing for her to take a seat at the kitchen bar.

 

“How are you really holding up, Pep?”

 

She gave a shaky laugh, bordering on hysteria, the heels of her hands pressed to her forehead. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Tony isn’t like you guys. He isn’t supposed to run off on missions and get … _SHOT_ at. He’s just supposed to be moody Tony. Pretends to be a harlot but really he’s a total nerd.” She sniffled, lips quirking bitterly. “I’m not supposed to lose him.”

 

Phil’s heart went out to her. It was an impossible thing to accept that one day someone you loved could be taken from you.

 

Silent tears trickled down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away.

 

“Ok. I just need some good news right now.” She pleaded. “I don’t care if it’s about those stupid baseball cards you collect. Just… distract me.”

 

“Hey those cards are mint condition. They could fund a college education.”

 

“Oh yea?” She smiled thinly, “Don’t remember you and Clint having any kids.”

 

Phil shrugged. “Maybe one day soon. After all this is over.”

 

Pepper looked surprised. “I hadn’t realized you two…” She frowned, brain quickly catching on part of his response. “Wait, do you really think this will all be over soon?”

 

Phil leaned towards her over the counter, careful not to put pressure on his bad arm. “If what Fury suspects is true, we might have yet another real solid lead on ending all of this.”

 

“And Bucky?” She asked earnestly. “Tony wouldn’t talk much about his last visit. How is he? How’s my boy?”

 

Phil smiled. “He’s good. He misses you.”

 

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I was worried when Tony mentioned some reporter was living with you guys. Bucky never much liked reporters growing up.”

 

“Ah, Steve.” Phil laughed. “No… I think this is one reporter Bucky likes just fine.”

 

“Oh?” She lifted a brow, questioningly.

 

“Lets just say Bucky might come home soon, and I think a large part of why is because of Steve.”

 

Pepper stood, walking around the bar to the coffee machine where she poured them both large mugs of coffee.

  
“I think you’re going to need to tell me more about this Steve.” She pressed the mug into his hand, her shaking hands slightly calmer.

Phil huffed out a laugh. “Where do I begin?”

 

Phil had dozens of reasons to want to bring Bucky home, but seeing that hope spring in his friend’s eyes at possibly being reunited with the young man she loved like a son, he felt that list grow longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it and it was worth the wait! Things start getting crazy in the next couple chapters. Again, I will try to update as soon as I can.
> 
> 5/22/16 hi guys! I've been out of the country again for the past few days and didn't take my laptop. I should be back beggining of June and will work on the next chapter then. Sorry for the delay

**Author's Note:**

> 8/9/16 I just realized how long it's been since I've updated. So sorry! I got busy, and then I didn't have any inspiration or motivation and I guess more and more time passed. I'm trying to get some inspiration and motivation to write and as soon as I do I'll start working on the next chapter. I have the entire story outlined, so I know where it's going, it's just putting into words. 
> 
> Thanks to those who have stuck with me and my sporadic updating thus far! I appreciate all the kudos and comments and am trying to get back into the correct mindset to actually finish this! Hopefully it won't take too much longer :)


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